By  Francis  Sullivan 


Children  of  Banishment 
Star  of  the  North 


'  Just  as  when  he  had  met  her  first  she  seemed  to  embody  the  spirit  of 

the  green,  wild  places,  so  now  she  symbolized  the  soul  of  the 

frozen  wilderness." 


Drawn  by  D.  C.  Hutchison. 


(Puge  //y) 


Star  of  the  North 


By 

Francis  William  Sullivan 

Author  of  "Alloy  of  Gold"  "Children  of  Banishment,"  etc. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  and  London 
fmfcfcerbocfcer    press 
1916 


COPYRIGHT,  1916 

BY 

FRANCIS   WILLIAM    SULLIVAN 
Second  Impression 


Ube  ftnicfterbocfeer  press,  mew  gorft 


SO 
ROBERT  H.  DAVIS 

FIELD   MARSHAL   OF   FICTION 
FROM  A   SUBALTERN 


22290S7 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — LOST  AND  FOUND  i 

II. — A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  WILD  .         .  n 

III. — TEMPLE  GETS  A  LETTER        .         .  20 

IV. — A  CLASH    .  35 

V. — BAILLIE  SETS  TO  WORK         .         .46 

VI. — A  REVELATION      ....  60 

VII. — A  "CUT-BACK"  TO  MANHATTAN    .  79 

VIII. — BETWEEN  Two  FIRES   ...  89 

IX.— A  TEST 98 

X. — BAILLIE  PLAYS  His  TRUMPS           .  112 

XI. — THE  RECKONING            .         .         .  128 

XII. — TRANSITION 143 

XIII. — BAILLIE  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY        .  158 

XIV. — BAD  NEWS 172 

XV. — REALIZATION         .         .         .         .188 

XVI. — ON  THE  WINGS  OF  THE  STORM       .  198 


vi  Contents 

CHAPTER  PACK 

XVII. — CONFLICT 212 

XVIII. — REPRISAL 228 

XIX. — COMPENSATION      ....     242 

XX.— THE  WORM  TURNS        .         .         .254 

XXI. — AN  UNWELCOME  GUEST         .         .     272 

XXII.— THE  FIRST  STOP  .         .        .         .286 

XXIII. — LOVE  WATCHES     ....     295 

XXIV.— THE  BITTER  TRAIL  .         .308 

XXV.— TRAILS  CROSS       .         .         .         ."  323 

XXVI. — SEVERED  BONDS  ....     338 

XXVII. — REQUIESCAT          ....     353 

XXVIII. — FACING  FORWARD          .         .         .     361 


Star  of  the  North 


Star  of  the  North 


CHAPTER I 

LOST  AND  FOUND 

A  T  the  director's  sharp  bark  of  disapproval, 
Paul  Temple,  who  commanded  more 
film  footage  and  salary  than  any  young  man 
in  the  movie  business,  stepped  back  from  the 
clutch  of  the  leading  lady.  It  was  the  second 
time  Tom  Briscoe  had  barked  at  this  scene, 
and  it  was  plain  that  the  field  marshal  of  the 
Graphic  forces  was  annoyed.  He  sat  down  in 
despair  on  a  fallen  tree,  and  the  whole  com- 
pany waited  in  expectant  silence. 

The  scene  was  redolent  of  the  north  country 
it  was  set  in.  Two  buckskin  tepees,  a  smoking 
fire,  and  the  usual  details  of  a  small  Indian 
encampment,  stood  out  vividly  in  the  sunlight 
against  a  dark-green  background  of  virgin 


2  Star  of  the  North 

forest.  And  it  was  virgin  forest.  The  Graphic 
Company  was  filming  this  multiple-reeler  a 
hundred  miles  from  the  northern  terminus  of 
the  railroad,  and  not  so  far  south  of  the  oft- 
quoted  "53." 

Briscoe  raised  a  face  of  martyr-like  patience 
and  addressed  Marguerite  French,  the  leading 
lady  who,  garbed  as  an  Indian  maiden,  stood 
in  the  camera's  eye. 

"No,  French,  that  won't  do,"  he  explained, 
with  the  sweetness  of  despair.  "This  isn't 
Fifth  Avenue,  and  you're  not  welcoming  your 
long-lost  lover  in  a  drawing-room.  That 
1  Oh,  Gawge! '  you  pulled  would  have  registered 
in  a  blind  asylum.  You're  an  Indian  girl  and 
you're  bang  up  against  the  fact  that  the  man 
you  love  has  just  come  North  after  a  long 
absence  with  a  beautiful  white  wife. " 

He  bounded  up  off  the  log  and  went  forward 
with  quick,  short  steps.  Temple,  a  big, 
virile-looking  man  of  thirty,  with  a  kindly  and 
rugged  rather  than  handsome  face,  had  drawn 
aside  and  was  chatting  with  good-tempered 
Elsie  Tanner,  his  picture  "wife. " 


Lost  and  Found  3 

The  leading  woman  pouted  and  stamped  her 
foot  furiously,  to  a  clicking  accompaniment 
of  porcupine  quills  on  her  buckskin  Indian 
dress.  She  was  of  medium  height  with  a  good 
''taking"  face  of  conventional  prettiness,  and 
a  decided  temperament.  Now  her  popular 
blonde  tresses  were  covered  with  a  coarse 
wig  of  black  hair  bound  with  a  beaded  fillet. 

"Good  heavens,  Mr.  Briscoe,  how  am  I  to 
know  what  you  want!"  she  exclaimed  angrily, 
"I  can't  dream  it." 

Briscoe,  in  whose  side  she  was  a  continual 
thorn,  restrained  himself.  He  had  to.  The 
outlay  for  this  picture,  for  the  support  of  the 
great  camp  a  mile  away  in  the  heart  of  the 
Canadian  wilderness,  and  the  scenes  already 
filmed,  made  a  row  with  the  leading  woman 
at  this  juncture  impossible. 

Temple  sensed  the  highly  charged  state  of 
the  atmosphere  and  interposed.  He  turned 
to  Miss  French  with  an  almost  boyish  smile 
that  belied  somewhat  the  faint  look  of  care 
across  his  eyes  and  the  lines  about  his  mouth. 

"Suppose  we  have  Tom  go  through  the 


4  Star  of  the  North 

action  for  us, "  he  suggested.  "I  wasn't  quite 
sure  of  it  myself. " 

The  young  woman  agreed  ungraciously,  and 
Briscoe  burst  into  new  life. 

"Right-O!"  he  shouted,  and  jumped  for- 
ward, taking  a  stand  in  the  doorway  of  the 
middle  tepee.  "I'm  Na-shi-go  the  princess, 
and  you've  just  come  back  North  with  your 
white  wife,  Paul.  Now  Elsie—  "  to  the  "  wife  " 
— "  I  want  you  to  register  a  little  more  disgust 
at  the  apparent  dirt  and  squalor  of  the 
Indian  camp.  This  is  the  first  time  you've 
ever  been  in  the  woods,  you  know;  your  new 
sporting  store  clothes  show  that.  All  right, 
come  ahead. " 

Tom  Briscoe  was  not  a  director  by  chance. 
Before  he  had  finished  with  the  princess 
and  her  emotions  the  entire  company  was 
watching  him  fascinated,  forgetful  of  his 
chunky  body,  big  round  head,  and  short 
legs. 

"Got  me,  French?"  he  asked,  bounding 
away  to  his  place  behind  Gene  Perkins  at  the 
camera,  a  lanky  man  who  ground  miles  of 


film  with  consistent  melancholy.  "Now  go 
through  it." 

Somewhat  humbled,  the  young  woman 
rehearsed  the  scene  creditably. 

' '  All  right, ' '  snapped  Briscoe.  ' '  Now  again, 
and  this  time  for  blood.  Camera,  Gene. " 

The  minor  character  men  and  women 
commenced  their  business,  the  camera  clicked, 
and  the  scene  proceeded  without  a  hitch. 

' '  Fine !  Now  next  scene. ' '  Briscoe  whipped 
over  the  pages  of  his  script.  "French  and 
Tanner.  Temple,  I'm  through  with  you  for 
this  morning,  and  you,  Walsh,  and  you  and 
you,"  pointing  out  minor  people.  "Re- 
member, water  stuff  this  afternoon." 

Paul  Temple  filled  his  pipe  slowly  as  for 
a  few  moments  he  watched  the  preparations. 
Then  he  turned  away  and  strolled  back  along 
the  plainly  marked  trail  towards  camp.  The 
forest  was  first  growth  timber  of  black  spruce, 
balsam,  birch,  and  tamarack,  with  a  fairly 
thick  undergrowth  of  hazel  and  blackberry, 
and  now  under  the  hot  August  sun  it  was 
sweet  with  piny  odours. 


6  Star  of  the  North 

There  was  in  the  peace  of  the  untrammelled 
wild  a  sense  of  brooding  immensity  that  awed 
him,  for  he  was  still  new  to  it  all.  Crows  cawed 
and  fought  among  the  tree-tops,  and  red 
squirrels  chattered  at  him  as  he  passed.  A 
porcupine  scuttled  across  the  trail. 

But  now,  alone,  a  change  had  come  over 
Temple.  The  cheery  exuberance  that  had 
characterized  him  among  the  others  was  gone, 
and  his  face  had  settled  into  lines  of  weariness, 
almost  of  pain.  He  had  the  look  of  one  from 
whom  a  mask  is  removed. 

For  a  few  moments  he  walked  in  heavy 
thought.  Then  he  brushed  his  hand  across  his 
eyes  as  if  dispelling  an  ugly  vision,  and  forced 
his  thoughts  back  to  his  work. 

Not  since  his  first  part  three  years  ago  had 
he  enjoyed  anything  as  he  enjoyed  the  making 
of  this  picture,  "Wilderness  Idyl. "  Here  was 
realism  with  a  vengeance.  The  word  had  gone 
forth  to  "get  the  stuff, "  and  the  stuff  was  be- 
ing got.  It  was  a  fortnight  since  the  Graphics 
had  left  the  last  outpost  of  the  railroad,  and 
snow  would  fly  before  they  saw  it  again. 


Lost  and  Found  7 

As  Temple  walked  softly  along  in  his  high, 
oil-tanned  shoepacks,  he  saw  off  to  the  right 
of  the  trail  a  low,  bare-topped  hill  which 
immediately  suggested  itself  as  a  "location." 
There  was  to  be  an  Indian  council  scene  in  the 
picture,  he  knew,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that 
this  might  do  to  stage  it. 

Turning  off  the  trail  he  pushed  his  way 
through  the  screen  of  hazel  bushes  towards  the 
hill.  Sharp  outcroppings  of  grey  rock  and 
wind-fallen  trees  forced  him  to  take  a  devious 
course,  and  it  was  half  an  hour  before  he 
reached  the  wind-swept  summit. 

It  was  all  he  had  desired,  however,  and  as  he 
plunged  down  into  the  forest  again,  he  thought 
of  Briscoe's  satisfaction.  For  a  long  while 
he  walked,  and  then,  puzzled  at  not  having 
struck  the  trail  again,  halted.  To  get  his 
bearings  he  looked  back  towards  the  hill 
from  which  he  had  started,  but  this  was  now 
blocked  from  view  by  a  lesser  height  he  had 
circled. 

For  a  moment  he  was  at  a  loss.  Then  he 
recalled  the  historic  advice  to  green  woodsmen. 


8  Star  of  the  North 

"I  must  keep  to  the  left,"  he  thought. 
"I've  probably  been  making  a  circle. " 

He  plunged  on  again,  bearing  always  to  the 
left,  but  after  half  an  hour  of  rough  going  he 
again  halted.  He  had  not  crossed  the  trail 
nor  seen  any  sign  of  it.  An  unpleasant  con- 
viction that  he  was  lost  forced  itself  on  him. 

"Steady  now,"  he  told  himself,  "don't  get 
excited, "  and  tried  to  think  what  to  do. 

But  nothing  suggested  itself.  All  about  the 
inscrutable  forest  seemed  silent  as  if  watching 
him.  The  romance  was  gone  from  it  now.  It 
seemed  a  grim,  relentless  thing,  a  great  web 
in  which  he  was  entangled. 

Because  motion  was  a  relief,  he  plunged  on. 
His  felt  hat  was  in  his  hand,  and  his  flannel 
shirt  was  torn  where  thorns  had  plucked  at  it. 
He  was  ravenously  hungry,  and  from  the 
length  of  his  wanderings  he  knew  that  it  must 
be  past  noon.  He  tried  to  get  his  bearings 
from  the  sun,  but  doubted  his  own  judgment. 
He  was  thoroughly  bewildered. 

Then  the  constantly  recurring  belief  that 
the  camp  must  be  just  a  little  farther,  drove 


Lost  and  Found  9 

him  on,  in  a  last  effort.  But  the  fastnesses 
seemed  only  to  draw  more  bafflingly  close 
about  him. 

He  was  fingering  the  revolver  in  his  holster 
with  the  idea  of  firing  it  to  attract  attention, 
when  he  heard  the  rushing  of  water  and  went 
towards  it.  The  camp  was  on  a  river,  and  he 
thought  that  this  might  be  the  stream. 

Parting  the  bushes  on  the  steep  bank,  he 
looked  down  and  stood  riveted  with  astonish- 
ment. 

In  the  stony  shallows  at  the  edge  of  the 
rushing  brook  stood  a  girl,  fishing.  Her  skirts 
were  pinned  up  well  above  her  knees  and 
revealed  black  hip  boots.  Beside  her  on  the 
rocks  lay  a  felt  hat  in  which  was  stuck  a  little 
strawberry-coloured  feather  from  a  pine  gros- 
beak's plumage,  and  next  it,  a  wicker  ham- 
per. Now  as  he  watched  she  whipped  her  line 
back  and  forth  with  swift,  lithe  motions, 
and  cast  deftly  into  a  pool  on  the  opposite 
side. 

Temple  stood  breathing  heavily  for  a 
moment,  the  overwhelming  surge  of  his  relief 


io  Star  of  the  North 

measuring  the  fear  he  had  not  dared  admit 
before.  Then  weary,  dripping,  scratched,  and 
torn,  he  started  down  the  bank  towards 
her. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  WILD 

OO  loud  was  the  chatter  of  the  stream  that 
she  did  not  hear  him  until  the  stones  at 
the  water's  edge  crunched  beneath  his  feet. 
She  was  reeling  in  her  line,  but  at  the  sound 
she  whirled  to  face  him  as  by  one  swift 
movement. 

"I  beg  your  pardon  for  startling  you,"  said 
Temple,  a  sorry-looking  object,  "but  I  never 
was  so  glad  to  see  anybody  in  my  life. " 

She  examined  him  fearlessly  with  clear, 
dark  eyes  heavily  fringed  with  long  lashes, 
apparently  blissfully  unaware  of  the  state  of 
her  unconventional  nether  garments.  Her 
blue  flannel  shirt  was  open  at  the  throat,  and 
her  sleeves  rolled  up. 

"I  thought  you  were  a  bear,"  she  said 
slowly,  "but  you're  a  man  !"  Her  curiosity 

XI 


12  Star  of  the  North 

was  childlike.  "I  didn't  know  there  were  any 
strangers  in  this  country.  Are  you  packing 
through?" 

He  laughed  a  little  sheepishly. 

"Well,  not  exactly.  I'm — I'm  lost  and  I'm 
terribly  hungry." 

"Oh!"  Her  small,  red  mouth  seemed,  in 
the  forming  of  the  exclamation,  as  inquisitive 
as  her  eyes.  "I  wondered  where  your  duffle 
was.  Do  you  mean  you're  a  tourist  up  for  the 
fishing?  It  isn't  much  good  now. " 

Her  voice  was  clear  and  cool  like  the  water 
of  the  stream  at  her  feet.  Temple  struggled 
vainly  to  accustom  himself  to  her  heaven-sent 
presence  in  this  howling  wilderness. 

"No, "  he  admitted  again,  "not  that,  either. 
I'm  with  a  moving-picture  company  and  we're 
taking  a  big  feature  film  up  here  so  as  to  have 
the  atmosphere  correct.  I  left  the  trail  to 
examine  a  location  and  got  lost  in  the  'at- 
mosphere,' ' 

Her  big  eyes  studied  him  gravely  as  she 
finished  reeling  her  line. 

"I  don't  understand  a  thing  you're  talking 


A  Daughter  of  the  Wild  13 

about,"  she  said  coolly,  "but — "  with  a  keen 
appraising  glance  at  his  condition — "you're 
in  bad  shape  and  you  said  you  were  hungry, 
so  I  guess  we'd  better  go  home. " 

' '  Home !    Do  you  live  here,  Miss ?  " 

"June  Magregor  is  my  name,  and  of  course 
I  live  here.  I've  lived  here  all  my  life.  I'm 
so  sorry  father  is  away — he's  the  factor  at  the 
Post,  you  know — because  he  always  likes  to 
talk  with  strangers.  We  haven't  seen  a  real 
stranger  like  you  for  almost  two  years. " 

Temple  couldn't  resist  the  opportunity. 

"I  hope  I  shan't  always  be  as  much  of  a 
stranger  as  I  am  now."  His  quick  smile 
revealed  teeth  even  and  very  white  against  his 
deep  tan. 

"Oh,  so  do  I!  You're  so  different  from 
anybody  I've  met.  And  now  will  you  turn 
around,  please?  I  must  get  my  boots  off. " 

Delighted  by  an  ingenuousness  as  fresh  as 
the  air  he  breathed,  Temple  smiled  and 
presented  his  back.  There  was  a  minute  or 
two  of  scuffling  among  the  stones. 

"Now  I'm  ready,"  she  announced  serenely, 


14  Star  of  the  North 

and  he  turned  to  find  her  in  high-laced 
moccasins,  her  skirt  let  down.  She  glanced 
at  the  sun  swiftly.  "It's  late — quarter  of  two 
at  least — and  we  must  hurry. " 

Temple  pulled  out  his  watch.  It  was 
seventeen  minutes  of  the  hour. 

With  swift,  deft  hands  the  girl  packed  her 
boots  and  paraphernalia  into  the  hamper  on 
the  ground,  and  with  one  strong  motion  of  her 
body  swung  it  up  to  her  shoulder. 

"Oh,  please — "  he  sprang  forward.  "I'll 
take  that. " 

"Why?"  she  asked,  frankly  curious.  "I 
always  carry  it.  Besides — "'  with  another 
appraisal  of  his  condition — "I  don't  think 
you're  up  to  it.  You'd  better  let  me  go  ahead. 
There  isn't  any  trail."  She  turned  up  the 
bank. 

Stung  in  every  inch  of  his  six  feet  of  man- 
hood, Temple  followed  in  chagrined  silence. 
But  he  had  not  gone  two  hundred  yards  before 
his  mood  changed  to  one  of  thankfulness. 
Stumbling  over  stones  and  roots  with  the 
clumsy  feet  of  inexperience,  he  found  himself 


A  Daughter  of  the  Wild  15 

hard  pressed  to  keep  up  with  her.  She  walked 
with  the  springy,  sure-footed  stride  of  an 
Indian,  and  a  free  undulating  motion  that 
covered  an  amazing  amount  of  ground. 

There  was  no  semblance  of  a  trail,  and  yet 
she  went  on  confidently  only  now  and  then 
glancing  at  the  sun  over  her  shoulder. 

Temple  was  humble  and  "exhausted,  and 
ready  to  cry  quits  when  at  last  she  broke 
through  the  underbrush  into  a  clearing  and 
turned  to  wait  for  him. 

"This  is  the  Post,  Fort  McLeod  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company,"  she  told  him 
proudly. 

Temple  saw  a  group  of  five  or  six  log  build- 
ings in  a  sheltered,  untimbered  hollow  several 
acres  in  extent.  Two  of  them  were  large, 
apparently  a  dwelling  and  storehouse,  and 
were  flanked  by  the  others.  Acrid  yellow 
wood  smoke  was  drifting  from  the  chimney  of 
the  dwelling. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  clearing  stood 
three  large  Indian  tepees,  their  dirty-looking 
occupants  squatted  about  fires.  At  sight  of  the 


16  Star  of  the  North 

newcomers  a  number  of  half-starved  husky 
dogs  lifted  their  pointed  noses  into  the  air  and 
howled. 

"These  people  are  the  last  of  the  summer 
encampment,"  explained  the  girl.  "The 
rest  have  gone  back  to  their  hunting  and 
trapping  grounds. " 

She  led  the  way  towards  the  house. 

"And  this  is  where  you  live  all  the  time?" 
Temple  asked  incredulously.  "  Don't  you  get 
horribly  lonely?" 

She  laughed  a  gay,  silvery  laugh. 

"Lonely?  Why,  how  can  I  be,  with  the 
sewing  and  housekeeping  for  father,  and  hunt- 
ing and  fishing  and  trapping?  Why,  I  got  a 
hundred  fox  skins  from  my  own  trap  line  last 
winter. " 

Temple's  ingrained  Gotham  superiority 
dwindled  to  the  vanishing  point  as  his  wonder 
grew.  Put  her  anywhere  in  the  world,  he 
thought,  and  she  could  take  care  of  herself. 
Put  him  ten  yards  off  the  trail  and  he  would 
starve  to  death. 

In  front  of  the  house  he  noticed  for  the  first 


A  Daughter  of  the  Wild  17 

time  that  the  clearing  ran  down  and  ended  at 
the  bluff-like  bank  of  a  broad  river. 

"Is  that  the  Onipee?"  he  asked  excitedly. 

"Yes." 

"Then  I'm  lost  no  longer,"  he  cheered. 
"Our  camp  is  on  that  river. " 

"Up  or  down  stream." 

He  had  boggled  his  approach  but  he  re- 
covered quickly. 

"The  direction  is  a  mere  trifle, "  he  grinned 
amiably.  ' '  The  important  thing  is  that  I  have 
found  the  river." 

She  sniffed  at  his  evasion.  "You're  up- 
stream. That  explains  the  extraordinary 
things  I've  seen  floating  by  for  the  last  week. 
After  lunch  I'll  paddle  you  up," — Temple 
squirmed — "but  now  won't  you  come  in 
Mr. " 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  Temple,  Paul  Temple 
is  my  name. " 

"Won't  you  come  in,  Mr.  Temple?  I  know 
you're  starving. " 

He  obeyed  with  alacrity,  and  as  he  removed 
the  stains  of  his  hard  morning  in  the  factor's 


i8  Star  of  the  North 

own  bedroom — a  place  of  thick  beams,  rifles, 
and  huge  account  books — he  thought  of  her 
with  wonder,  so  like  a  great  breath  of  the 
piny  air  was  she,  wholesome,  sweet,  and  clean. 

Something  strong  and  vital  in  him  stirred 
as  if  from  long  sleep  in  response  to  her  primi- 
tive appeal.  After  the  stifling  atmosphere 
surrounding  the  women  he  had  known,  her 
wind-swept  freshness  was  bracing,  and  her 
virginal  innocence  of  men  a  delight. 

Fear  seemed  not  to  be  in  her.  Not  even  at 
the  moment  of  his  surprising  her  by  the  brook 
had  he  detected  it  in  her  eyes. 

A  man's  woman!  he  thought,  and  then,  at 
the  thought,  another  thought  came,  and 
suddenly  the  exhilaration  died  out  of  his  face 
and  left  it  set  in  the  lines  of  pain  that  had 
marked  it  in  the  morning. 

But  again,  as  he  had  done  then,  he  brushed 
the  thing  that  haunted  him  aside,  and  with  a 
last  rueful  inspection  of  himself  in  the  glass, 
summoned  the  gaiety  of  spirits  that  all  the 
world  knew  and  loved,  and  went  out  to  meet 
his  strange  hostess.  Remembering  his  posi- 


A  Daughter  of  the  Wild  19 

tion  in  his  own  world,  he  laughed  inwardly 
at  this  new  r61e  of  the  greenest,  humblest, 
and  most  helpless  tenderfoot  that  had  ever 
blundered  off  a  trail. 

But  he  had  to  admit  that  he  had  earned  it. 


CHAPTER  III 

TEMPLE  GETS  A  LETTER 

TUNE,  who   had   changed  to  a  becoming 
blue  woollen  dress  that  admirably  sug- 
gested her  lithe,  young  figure,  was  waiting 
for   him   in   the   trophy-hung   living   room, 
and  at  once  led  the  way  to  luncheon. 

Temple's  impressions  were  brief  but  satisfy- 
ing. Everywhere  were  such  comfort  and 
luxury  as  environment  and  circumstances 
permitted,  all  heightened  by  unerring  taste; 
heavy,  handmade  furniture,  many  rugs  of 
wild  animal  skins,  rows  of  books  along  the 
wall.  All  made  clear  to  Temple  the  girl's 
previously  inexplicable  refinement. 

At  the  table  she  seemed  a  different  creature 
from  the  unconcernedly  booted  fisherwoman 
who  had  rescued  him.  Without  losing  any  of 
her  naive  simplicity  and  charm,  she  yet  filled 

20 


Temple  Gets  a  Letter  21 

this  more  difficult  office  with  easy  skill.  And 
pondering  on  this,  Temple  glimpsed  vaguely 
the  centuries  of  good  breeding  and  hospitality 
that  distinguish  even  the  loneliest  posts  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company. 

"Please  let's  eat  first  and  talk  afterwards," 
she  said  tactfully,  "I'm  simply  famished." 

He  looked  whimsical  gratitude  and  put  his 
finger  on  his  lips  as  the  golden  glory  of  broiled 
brook  trout  was  set  before  him.  It  was  a 
moment  for  feeling  rather  than  speech.  A 
stout,  wrinkled  Indian  squaw  dressed  in  bright 
calico  served  them. 

For  a  time  they  ate  in  silence,  and  finally 
sighed  blissfully  together.  Then  they  laughed. 

"May  I  speak?  "  he  begged.  " If  I  go  on  this 
way  I'll  be  past  the  point." 

"Yes."  She  pushed  back  in  her  father's 
massive  arm-chair,  seeming  half  lost  in  its 
masculine  width. 

"I'm  frightfully  curious,  but  when  you 
spoke  to  that  squaw  did  you  talk  to  her  in  her 
own  language?" 

"Yes,  Ojibway.    Old  Maria  was  my  nurse 


22  Star  of  the  North 

after  my  mother  died,  so  you  see  I  grew  up 
speaking  it.  We  used  to  be  at  Fort  McKinnon 
on  Hudson's  Bay,  but  after  I  had  finished 
mission  school  there  father  came  inland  to  get 
away  from  the  salt  water,  and  Maria  came 
with  us." 

"And  you're  not  uneasy  here  alone  when 
your  father  is  gone?"  he  asked,  thinking  of 
the  women  he  knew. 

"No.  Why  should  I  be?"  She  was  hon- 
estly curious.  "I  camp  all  over  the  place 
alone  winter  and  summer.  But," — with  the 
eager  inquisitiveness  of  a  child — "let's  not 
talk  about  me;  let's  talk  about  you.  Tell  me 
again  what  you  are  doing  up  here.  I  didn't 
understand  you  at  all.  What  is  a  moving 
picture?" 

Temple's  gay  laugh  rang  out  in  the  low, 
beamed  room. 

"A  moving  picture  is  a  punishment  in- 
flicted on  theatrical  managers — "  he  began, 
and  then  stopped,  shaking  his  head.  "But 
no,  I'll  be  serious.  This  is  what  it  is,"  and, 
with  the  combined  enthusiasm  of  a  missionary 


Temple  Gets  a  Letter  23 

and  an  artist,  he  explained  the  wonderful 
thing,  watching  with  enjoyment  her  half- 
bewildered  interest. 

And  gradually  as  he  talked,  their  positions 
of  the  morning  were  reversed.  She  was  as 
much  at  a  loss  in  the  environment  he  created 
for  her  as  he  had  been  in  her  forests. 

"You  shall  see  a  movie, "  he  declared  at  the 
end,  "if  I  have  to  send  to  New  York  for  one." 

She  clapped  her  hands. 

"Oh,  really?    How  good  you  are!" 

"Didn't  you  save  my  life?"  his  white  teeth 
flashed. 

"Did  I?  Anyway  I'd  have  made  you  come 
with  me.  When  we  see  a  stranger  we  bag  him 
and  bring  him  home. " 

"And  you  said  you  weren't  lonely!" 

"Well,  one  gets  tired  of  half-breeds  and 
trappers,  sometimes." 

"Don't  you  ever  see  any — white  men?" 

"Oh,  once  in  a  long  while  when  tourists  or 
hunters  go  through.  And  in  the  spring  when 
the  brigade  is  ready  to  start  for  the  Bay  with 
the  furs  our  Indians  have  trapped  during  the 


24  Star  of  the  North 

winter.  But  they're  usually  men  as  old  as 
father." 

"I  see.  In  the  spring  a  young  girl's  fancy — 
eh?" 

She  wrinkled  her  nose  disrespectfully. 

"What  on  earth  did  Tennyson  mean  by 
that?  Poets  never  seem  to  think  of  anything 
else  much  but  love,  do  they?  In  the  spring 
my  thoughts  turn  to  early  fishing  and  the 
vegetable  garden  and  the  departure  of  the 
brigade." 

"Oh  ...  I  see."  Her  words  by  some 
strange  twist,  touched  a  deep  well  of  emotion 
in  him.  Somehow  at  that  moment  she  made 
him  think  of  dawn  across  a  meadow  or  little 
children  singing. 

"Love,"  he  said  with  a  half -wry  smile,  "is 
something  that  explains  itself,  but  which  no 
one  else  can  explain." 

"Have  you  been  in  love?"  It  was  the 
curious  child  again. 

She  saw  a  swift  shadow  cross  his  face,  but 
the  sun  followed  it. 

"A  moving  picture  actor  has  been  every- 


Temple  Gets  a  Letter  25 

where,"  he  said;  and  then  as  if  a  sudden 
thought  had  occurred  to  him:  "And  by  Jove, 
that  reminds  me!  I'll  bet  they've  got  search 
parties  out  from  the  camp  trying  to  find  me. 
I  never  thought  of  it  before.  And  oh,  Mama! 
I've  broken  up  the  water  stuff  we  were  going 
to  take  this  afternoon,  and  with  this  good 
shooting  light  Tom  Briscoe  will  tear  out  his 
hair  in  handfuls!" 

A  look  of  puzzlement  had  crossed  her  face, 
but  now  it  cleared. 

"Oh,  you  can't  go  shooting  now,"  she 
warned  him  gravely.  "Nothing  is  really  very 
good  to  eat  yet,  you  know. " 

He  laughed  out. 

"Of  course,  I  forgot.  By  'shoot'  I  meant 
take  pictures. " 

"O — oh!"  A  moment  of  silent  thought. 
"And  does  fishing  mean  something  else,  too?" 

"It  does  since  I  have  seen  you  do  it. " 

"Oh,  how  nice!"  Her  vivid  face  coloured 
with  pleasure.  They  had  finished  some  time 
since,  and  now  she  rose.  "I  suppose  we  had 
better  go  if  your  people  will  be  anxious." 


26  Star  of  the  North 

Getting  their  hats  they  started  at  once  for 
the  river.  The  bank  at  this  point  was  steep 
and  some  thirty  feet  high,  and  bore  near  its 
top  the  marks  left  by  the  ice  of  the  spring 
freshets.  The  two  followed  a  narrow  precipi- 
tous path  to  the  water's  edge,  a  little  crescent 
of  beach  where  several  canoes  were  drawn  up. 

The  girl  indicated  her  choice,  and  together 
they  hauled  it  to  the  water. 

"Can  you  paddle?"  she  asked  with  a  frank 
distrust  of  his  accomplishments  that  amused 
him. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said  truthfully,  and  held  the 
canoe  steady.  She  leaped  in  sure-footedly  and 
ran  to  her  place  in  the  bow. 

"Keep  inshore,"  she  warned  him  as  he 
pushed  off;  "it's  much  easier  in  the  eddies 
between  the  points  of  land."  And  he  felt 
again  her  mastery  over  him  in  this  mysterious, 
outdoor  world  of  hers. 

But  now  his  dependence  seemed  no  longer 
a  humiliation  but  an  inexplicably  sweet  thing. 

It  was  a  two-mile  paddle  before,  rounding  a 
stony  point,  they  came  upon  the  first  view  of 


Temple  Gets  a  Letter  27 

the  Graphic  camp — a  cluster  of  white  tents  in 
a  green  hollow  between  two  hills  on  the  left 
bank. 

June  gave  a  little  exclamation  of  surprise 
and  stopped  paddling. 

"Oh,  it's  a  big  camp !  You  didn't  tell  me  it 
was  so  big!" 

"Fifty  people  counting  guides  and  cooks. " 

"But  what  about  supplies?"  she  asked,  a 
little  bewildered.  It  was  her  first  experience 
with  the  dare-all,  do-all,  of  the  film  world, 
and  reason  told  her  that,  by  all  the  laws  of 
nature  and  experience  this  was  a  foolhardy 
expedition. 

"Oh,  that's  done  up  at  the  other  end,"  he 
told  her.  "They  haul  the  stuff  by  team  from 
the  railroad  to  the  headwaters  of  the  Onipee, 
and  send  it  the  rest  of  the  way  by  river.  See, 
there  are  two  scows  at  the  wharf  now  that 
weren't  there  this  morning." 

They  were  within  a  few  hundred  yards  now 
and  the  activity  of  unloading  was  very  plain. 
Also  a  number  of  completed  shacks  detached 
themselves  from  among  the  tent  colony,  and 


28  Star  of  the  North 

the  sound  of  hammering  told  of  others  under 
construction.  June  asked  him  about  these. 

"They  say  it  will  be  cold  for  the  women — 
our  women,"  he  added  hastily — "to  live  in 
tents  in  another  month,  so  we're  getting  up 
the  shacks.  We're  going  to  wait  for  winter, 
you  know,  to  get  snow  pictures." 

Suddenly  there  was  a  white  puff  of  smoke 
against  the  green  background  ashore  followed 
by  the  report  of  a  revolver,  and  in  a  moment 
men  and  women  appeared  as  if  by  magic, 
their  white  dots  of  faces  turned  in  Temple's 
direction. 

"By  George,  they  are  hunting  for  me,"  he 
said,  and  snatching  off  his  felt  hat  waved  it  in 
great  circles  about  his  head.  An  instant  later 
a  howl  of  joy  floated  to  him  across  the  water, 
and  the  crowd  commenced  streaming  down 
to  the  pier. 

But  now  that  he  was  safe,  the  remarks  that 
reached  him,  as  he  drew  close  in,  were  far  from 
sad  or  sentimental. 

"Hey,  Paul,  Tom  was  askin'  about  you. " 

"Yeah,  with  a  gun  in  each  hand. " 


Temple  Gets  a  Letter  29 

"You  will  waste  daylight,  eh?  Fifty  dollars 
fine  for  yours." 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  not  to  go  anywhere 
without  me,  infant?" 

"Potted  plant  'atmosphere'  for  you  after 
this." 

Paul  grinned  cheerfully.  Beneath  the  chaff 
he  felt  the  relief  and  real  pleasure  at  his  return. 

As  he  stepped  out  on  the  pier  he  was  over- 
whelmed, and  for  a  minute  was  busy  with  his 
tormentors.  Then  another  gun  on  one  of  the 
hills  was  fired, 

"Calling  back  the  search  parties  to  make  up 
your  firing  squad,  Temp, "  drawled  a  languid- 
looking,  handsome  youth  who  wore  a  bright- 
patterned  mackinaw  and  high  yellow  boots, 
and  was  smoking  a  cigarette.  "But  say," 
with  an  interested  glance  at  June,  "how  do 
you  do  it,  Paul?  I  think  I'll  get  lost  myself. " 

"Quite  useless  now,"  Temple  returned 
blandly,  but  without  warmth.  He  had  been 
anticipating  this  development  ever  since  sight- 
ing Jack  Baillie,  the  Graphic's  favourite 
"juvenile"  on  the  pier.  Then  he  turned  to 


30  Star  of  the  North 

June  whom  he  had  purposely  left  in  the  back- 
ground for  a  moment,  and  held  out  his  hand 
to  her. 

Her  fingers  barely  brushed  his  as  she  sprang 
lightly  ashore.  She  gravely  acknowledged  the 
introductions,  and  presently  the  whole  group 
moved  slowly  from  the  wharf  to  the  bank  and 
up  towards  the  tent  colony  while  Temple 
narrated  his  adventures. 

But  his  audience  was  small.  June  was  the 
centre  of  attraction.  Elsie  Tanner,  with  char- 
acteristic warm-heartedness,  had  promptly 
attached  herself  to  the  girl,  and  Jack  Baillie 
had  usurped  her  other  side,  and  was  talking  to 
her  in  a  low  voice  with  a  cool  assumption  of 
intimacy  that  annoyed  Temple. 

As  the  crowd  reached  the  strip  of  grass 
which  bisected  the  camp,  and  which  a  painted 
board  proclaimed  as  "Broadway,"  there  was 
a  whoop  from  the  nearby  woods,  and  Tom 
Briscoe  bounced  out  through  the  underbrush 
holding  in  each  hand  a  large  black  revolver 
with  which  he  had  been  signalling  through 
the  forest. 


Temple  Gets  a  Letter  31 

At  sight  of  Temple  he  stopped  abruptly  and 
rested  his  fists  on  his  hips,  the  artillery  jutting 
out  behind  him.  Then  he  nodded  his  head 
slowly. 

"Did  hims  little  Paul  run  away  from  hims 
nurse  and  get  lost  in  the  woods?"  he  inquired 
withenngly.  "  You  poor  boob !  You're  fined 
a  hundred  thousand  dollars!  That's  what 
you've  cost  me  mentally  today. " 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,  really,  Tom.  But  I 
brought  home  two  of  the  grandest  locations 
you  ever  heard  of. " 

" Locations !"  babbled  Briscoe.  "Ha,  ha! 
I  suppose  you  want  to  take  me  out  to  look  at 
them!  Ha,  ha!  Suicide!  Not  much.  The 
company  can  spare  you  but  not  me.  Ass!" 
And  he  went  off  to  his  tent. 

But  Temple  was  not  cast  down.  He  had 
felt  the  relief  and  forgiveness  beneath  the  rasp 
of  the  little  man's  tongue.  And  he  did  have 
the  locations! 

At  this  juncture  a  youth  who  was  employed 
in  the  administrative  department  of  the  camp 
(already  housed  in  a  large  log  shack),  ap- 


32  Star  of  the  North 

preached  Temple  with  a  bundle  of  letters  and 
papers  in  his  hand. 

"Mail  arrived  today,  sir,"  he  said  respect- 
fully, and  handed  over  the  bundle.  A  ten-day 
mail  service  from  the  railroad  terminus  was 
the  first  thing  Briscoe  had  instituted. 

"Oh,  fine!  I'd  forgotten.  And  thanks." 
Temple  turned  to  June. 

"You'll  forgive  me  if  I  read  my  mail?"  he 
said.  "  I  know  I'm  leaving  you  in  good  hands." 

The  girl  did  not  hear  him,  so  attentively 
was  she  listening  to  Baillie,  and  Temple 
accepted  her  absorption  in  lieu  of  dismissal, 
and  walked  away,  his  brow  clouded.  He 
would  not  have  chosen  Baillie  as  her  com- 
panion, but  there  was  nothing  to  be  done 
about  it.  Moreover,  another  matter  of  im- 
portance claimed  his  mind. 

Had  this  mail  brought  a  letter — the  letter? 

Turning  off  Broadway  to  the  left,  he  made 
his  way  to  the  little  tent  he  had  the  distinction 
of  occupying  alone,  and  sat  down  on  a  camp- 
stool. 

It  was  a  simple  interior;  a  cot-bed  on  one 


Temple  Gets  a  Letter  33 

side,  two  trunks  on  the  other,  a  packing  box 
with  a  wash  bowl  on  it  at  the  far  end,  and, 
suspended  above,  a  shaving  glass.  Worn 
earth  was  underfoot. 

Throwing  the  newspapers  aside  Temple 
looked  through  the  letters. 

There  were  at  least  fifty  of  them,  the 
majority  addressed  in  round  feminine  hand- 
writing— the  effusions  of  callow  girls  and 
romantically  inclined  women  who  had  seen 
him  on  the  screen.  He  did  not  despise  these. 
Through  them  he  was  able  to  keep  a  finger  on 
the  pulse  of  his  public,  and  this  alone  made 
worth  while  to  him  the  enormous  labour  of 
answering  them. 

He  would  read  them  all  carefully,  but  not 
now.  He  put  them  aside  and  looked  through 
the  remainder,  which  comprised  the  usual 
miscellany.  And  then  he  found  what  he 
sought,  a  thick,  scented  lavender  envelope 
addressed  sprawlingly  in  blue  ink. 

For  a  minute  before  opening  it  he  sat  silent, 
brooding,  his  nostrils  a  little  pinched.  Then 
he  slit  it  and  opened  the  pages.  The  letter 


34  Star  of  the  North 

was  dated  from  his  apartment  on  Riverside 
Drive,  New  York  City,  and  began: 

"Paul:  No,  I  shall  not  divorce  you.  You 
can't  fool  me  for  a  minute  with  your  talk 
about  my '  happiness. '  Everybody  knows  that 
French  is  crazy  about  you,  and  I  suppose  you 
want  to  get  rid  of  me  so  you  can  have  her. 
Well,  there's  nothing  doing.  I  have  suspected 
you  would  try  something  like  this  for  a  long 
while,  but  I  won't  stand  for  it.  I  am  starting 
for  your  camp  as  soon  as  I  can  get  ready. 
Perhaps  you  will  like  that,  you  and  French ! 
"Your  wife, 

"GERTRUDE." 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  CLASH 

T^EMPLE  read  the  brief,  brutal  letter  twice, 
*  letting  each  venomous  word  sink  into 
his  brain.  Then,  silent,  hurt,  bitterly  disap- 
pointed, he  sat  staring  straight  before  him,  the 
single  sheet  dangling  from  his  fingers. 

She  would  give  him  no  divorce;  she  sus- 
pected him  of  an  infatuation  for  Marguerite 
French ;  was  coming  here  to  the  camp. 

It  was  a  characteristic  letter,  selfish,  jealous, 
hateful.  And  it  was  Gertrude's  answer  to  his 
plea  for  freedom,  his  effort  to  end  the  miserable 
mistake  of  their  marriage,  and  rid  himself  of 
a  burden  that,  during  these  last  months,  had 
grown  almost  intolerable. 

He  might  have  expected  the  refusal,  he 
thought,  and  the  abuse,  but  this  threatened 
visit —  He  glanced  at  the  letter  again.  "I 

35 


36  Star  of  the  North 

am  starting  for  your  camp  as  soon  as  I  can 
get  ready. "  The  blood  slowly  mounted  to  his 
face  and  his  jaw  set.  No,  she  should  not  do 
that !  He  would  telegraph  her  that 

A  moment's  thought  and  he  realized  the 
futility  of  that.  Long  before  a  message  could 
reach  her  from  this  isolated  wilderness,  she 
would  probably  be  on  her  way  to  him,  and, 
once  she  had  started,  protests  would  only 
hurry  her. 

A  feeling  of  utter  hopelessness  settled  over 
Paul.  Always  during  the  five  years  of  their 
married  life  it  had  been  the  same.  She  had 
thwarted  or  resisted  his  every  hope  and 
ambition. 

Five  years  of  it!  He  recalled  as  if  it  had 
been  yesterday  their  marriage  in  the  Middle 
West  while  members  of  the  same  theatrical 
road  company,  and  the  struggle  that  had 
begun  upon  their  return  to  New  York.  Tem- 
ple had  wanted  a  home,  but  Gertrude's  prefer- 
ences lying  in  the  opposite  direction,  she  had 
plunged  into  the  gay  night -life  of  the  metropolis 
leaving  him  to  follow  or  not  as  he  chose. 


A  Clash  37 

The  next  year  she  had  refused  to  go  with 
him  when  he  left  for  his  season's  work  on  the 
road,  and  then  when  stories  commenced  to 
follow  him  to  the  one-night  stands  in  the 
country  he  knew  that  the  beginning  of  the 
end  had  come.  What  the  exact  situation  was 
concerning  certain  men  he  never  knew  and 
never  tried  to  find  out.  But  gradually  as  his 
position  grew  more  and  more  unendurable,  his 
feelings  changed  from  love  to  dislike  and  then 
to  repugnance. 

The  following  year  witnessed  his  first  ap- 
pearance as  a  film  actor  and  Gertrude's  final 
separation  from  him.  Since  then  she  had 
remained  immovably  in  New  York,  living  on 
the  liberal  allowance  he  made  her,  and  appear- 
ing in  several  small  "legitimate"  parts  under 
the  stage  name  of  Gertrude  Mackay,  by  which 
she  was  known.  To  further  her  freedom  and 
amusement  she  carefully  concealed  her  mar- 
riage, and  Paul  made  no  effort  to  reveal  that 
tragic  chapter  of  his  life.  As  a  result  the  fact 
was  almost  unsuspected. 

Yet  despite  this  status  quo,  what  Paul  had 


38  Star  of  the  North 

learned  of  his  wife's  behaviour  during  the  last 
six  months  had  driven  him  to  action,  and  in  the 
hope  that  she  wished  to  marry  again,  he  had 
suggested  that  she  take  up  residence  in  the 
West  and  get  a  divorce.  Her  present  letter 
had  been  the  reply,  bewildering,  contrary,  and 
savage. 

Most  brutal  of  all  was  her  attack  on  Mar- 
guerite French.  He  read  the  charge  again: 
"Everybody  knows  that  French  is  crazy  about 
you,  and  I  suppose  you  want  to  get  rid  of  me 
so  you  can  have  her. " 

Poor,  vain,  misguided,  spiteful  creature! 
Paul's  anger  gave  way  to  a  sort  of  pitying 
contempt.  He  knew  that  public  and  studio 
gossip  linked  his  name  with  that  of  his  leading 
lady — as  always  when  two  people  worked 
together  for  a  year.  But  he  also  knew  that 
there  was  no  truth  in  it.  He  neither  loved 
Miss  French  nor  she  him. 

A  feeling  of  rebellion  at  his  fate  began  to  stir 
in  Temple.  Was  he  never  to  be  free  of  this 
incubus  ?  Was  it  to  cling  to  him  forever  ?  Five 
years  of  it  now  and  no  hope  of  freedom  in 


A  Clash  39 

sight.  He  couldn't  endure  much  more.  He 
was  young,  vital,  brimming  with  youth  and 
success,  entering  upon  his  best  and  most 
productive  years,  and  this  thing  dragged  him 
down  like  a  millstone  about  his  neck.  Was 
he  never  to  have  another  chance?  Was  the 
best  and  truest  happiness  to  be  denied  him? 

He  had  dreamed  for  years  that  somewhere, 
sometime,  he  should  meet  the  one  girl  in 
the  world  who  would  embody  everything  for 
which  his  starved  being  yearned,  and  to  whom 
he,  too,  would  bring  the  greatest  gift,  and 
sitting  in  his  tent,  the  murmurous  voice  of  the 
great  forest  about  him,  he  wondered  if  he  had 
found  her  today? 

At  the  thought  of  June  his  heavy  heart 
thrilled  with  momentary  gladness.  He  had 
only  just  met  her,  yet  some  intangible  quality 
of  hers  had  gone  straight  down  to  the  very 
centre  of  his  soul,  soothing  and  healing  him 
like  the  balm  of  her  deep  forests.  Motherliness 
was  hers  beneath  the  fresh  girlhood ;  comrade- 
ship, innocence;  the  undestroyed  illusion  and 
the  unawakened  response  to  love.  After 


40  Star  of  the  North 

years  of  the  sordid  tragedy  of  Gertrude  he 
yearned  for  the  wind-blown  purity  of  June  as 
a  thirsting  man  longs  for  water. 

Suddenly  he  was  roused  from  his  long  ab- 
sorption by  quick  footsteps  outside  the  tent, 
and  without  as  much  as  "by  your  leave," 
the  flap  was  thrown  back  and  Jack  Baillie 
shouldered  in.  Startled  by  the  unexpected 
entrance,  Temple's  hand  jerked  and  the  letter 
flew  from  it  almost  under  Baillie's  feet. 

The  latter  stooped  at  once  to  pick  it  up. 

"More  gush  from  the  dippy  dames,  eh," 
he  said,  with  a  twinge  of  envy.  His  own  mail 
was  very  light.  "  Let's  have  a  look  at  it. " 

He  dropped  his  eyes  to  the  sheet  but  on  the 
instant  Temple  had  leaped  from  the  camp- 
stool  and  crushed  it  in  his  hand.  "Forget 
that,  Jack,"  he  said,  sharply,  as  he  took  the 
letter. 

"Oho!"  cried  Baillie,  half  angrily,  "a  little 
touchy  on  that  one,  eh?  A  dark  secret  in  the 
idol's  past!  Always  thought  so,  but  now  I'm 
sure  of  it."  With  a  forced  laugh  he  brushed 
a  pile  of  opened  envelopes  off  one  of  the  trunks 


A  Clash  41 

and  sat  down.  "  But  say !  that  little  wildflower 
you  dug  up  today  is  some  pippin,  Paul. 
Pretty!  Whew!  And  innocent!  Say,  she's 
got  about  all  there  is  to  learn!" 

Paul  stared  at  him  with  sudden  intense 
dislike.  Then  he  became  conscious  of 
how  very  long  it  was  that  he  had  left  June 
alone. 

"By  George,  I'd  forgotten!  I  must  go  out 
and " 

"Never  mind,"  Baillie  assured  him,  cheer- 
fully, "it's  too  late  now.  She's  gone.  I 
wanted  to  take  her  home,  but  she  wouldn't  let 
me,  confound  it." 

"Gone!" 

"Yes,  fifteen  minutes  ago.  Asked  after 
you,  too.  But  say!  Do  they  grow  many  of 
'em  like  that  around  here?  I'll  have  to  see 
more  of  her, — as  the  fellow  said  of  the  girl  in 
the  bathing  suit." 

With  bland  familiarity  he  rambled  on, 
while  Paul,  a  slow  anger  gathering  in  him, 
listened,  controlling  himself  with  difficulty. 
Baillie  was  a  new  addition  to  the  Graphic 


42  Star  of  the  North 

forces,  having  joined  the  company  just  before 
it  left  New  York. 

From  the  first  his  manner  and  a  certain 
weakness  in  his  handsome,  dark  face  had 
repelled  Temple,  and  now  as  he  poured  forth 
his  Tenderloin  rhapsodies  of  June,  Paul  felt 
that  this  impression  had  been  well-founded. 

"It's  been  slower  than  mud  in  this  prison, " 
confided  Baillie,  easily,  "but  now  I  guess  I'll 
be  able  to  worry  along,  what?" 

Paul  looked  the  other  squarely  in  the  eye. 

"If  I  were  you,"  he  said  coolly,  "I'd  be  a 
little  careful  with  Miss  Magregor. " 

The  younger  man's  eyes  opened  with  as- 
tonishment. 

"Well,  of  all  the  swank!  What  do  you 
mean?" 

"Just  what  I  say.  I  don't  like  the  way 
you've  been  talking  for  the  last  ten  minutes, 
and  I  thought  I'd  tell  you. " 

Baillie  got  up  from  the  trunk  and  glowered 
down  upon  the  other. 

"You  did,  eh?  Well,  let  me  tell  you  some- 
thing. You  may  be  the  star  of  this  company 


A  Clash  43 

and  have  something  to  say  about  my  work, 
though  I  doubt  it,  but  outside  of  that  you've 
nothing  to  say,  and  I'll  thank  you  to  remember 
the  fact.  I  don't  need  your  advice.  I  can 
look  out  for  myself. " 

"And  I'll  look  out  for  Miss  Magregor  since 
I  don't  think  she's  able  to  do  it  herself." 
Temple  leaned  back,  one  knee  clasped  in  his 
hands,  and  looked  up  at  the  other  with  steady 
blue  eyes  in  which  a  spark  burned  which  had  a 
strange  tendency  to  curb  the  ardour  of  youth. 
"I'm  telling  you  this,  first,  because  I  brought 
her  here  and  feel  in  a  way  responsible,  and 
second,  because  she's  so  different  from  the 
women  that  you — or  I — are  accustomed  to. 
You  seem  to  think  that  fact  is  something  to 
take  advantage  of,  and  I  happen  to  think  the 
opposite.  That's  all." 

Baillie's  face  flushed  at  the  cool  contempt  of 
the  other,  and  his  thin-lipped  cruel  mouth  set 
tightly. 

"Suppose  I  give  a  damn  what  you  think?" 
he  flashed.  "You  think  too  much.  You're 
not  that  girl's  guardian  and  you  can't  dictate 


44  Star  of  the  North 

to  me.  Now,  you  mind  your  business  and  I'll 
mind  mine. " 

"Thanks,  I  will, "  Temple  told  him,  quietly, 
"until  your  business  becomes  mine.  Then 
I'll  take  a  hand.  And  if  I  ever  do, "  his  voice 
raised  slightly,  "don't  forget  that  I  told  you 
this  today." 

Baillie  choked.  He  shook  his  fist  in  Paul's 
face. 

"Don't  you  interfere  with  me,"  he  threat- 
ened thickly,  "or  you'll  get  yours.  I  give  you 
fair  warning.  If  you  butt  into  what's  none  of 
your  business  I'll  break  your  head.  And  don't 
you  forget  it." 

For  a  moment,  with  congested  face  and 
flashing  eyes  he  stood  over  Paul.  Then  he 
stormed  out  of  the  tent,  swearing  incoher- 
ently. 

When  he  had  gone  Temple  sat  for  a  little 
while,  his  face  grave  and  thoughtful.  It  was 
not  of  the  crumpled  letter  in  his  hand  nor  of 
the  past  he  thought  now,  but  of  the  fact  that 
he  had  made  an  enemy.  And  the  knowledge 
disturbed  him,  for  he  realized  that  now  less 


A  Clash  45 

than  at  any  time  in  his  life  could  he  afford 
any  man's  hatred. 

But  behind  that  fact  lay  another  even  more 
important,  the  root  cause  of  that  enmity,  his 
swift  and  eager  response  to  June.  It  is  the 
righting,  protecting  male  that  love  arouses, 
and  here  not  five  hours  after  their  first  meeting 
he  was  championing  her  against  the  world. 

With  Gertrude  coming  (that  thought  never 
left  him)  could  he  have  done  two  more  unwise, 
not  to  say  dangerous,  things  in  one  day?  he 
asked  himself. 


CHAPTER  V 

BAILLIE  SETS  TO  WORK 

TT  was  several  days  before  Temple  saw  June 
again.  In  that  time  the  Graphics  had 
filmed  the  delayed  water  "stuff"  on  the  river 
near  the  camp,  and  done  a  pursuit  by  Indians 
through  the  nearby  forest.  It  was  characteris- 
tic of  Briscoe  that  amid  all  this  he  found  time 
to  dress  one  of  the  guides  as  an  English  nurse- 
maid and  assign  him  to  Paul  as  a  delicate 
suggestion  not  to  go  plunging  recklessly  again 
through  the  province  of  Ontario. 

Almost  one  entire  day  was  spent  by  the 
chunky  director  in  extracting  real  tears  from 
Marguerite  French.  No  vaseline  or  other  fake 
evidences  of  grief  would  do  for  him.  The 
Graphic  had  invested  $200,000  in  realism, 
and  realism  it  would  have  even  at  French's 
expense. 

* 


Baillie  Sets  to  Work  47 

"Set  for  a  close-up,  Gene,"  he  directed  the 
camera  man,  and  Perkins  dragged  his  artillery 
to  within  a  yard  of  the  leading  lady's  face,  a 
process  she  relished  since  there  was  neither 
wrinkle  nor  blemish  on  its  smooth  fair  surface. 
What  fear  of  the  bench  is  to  a  baseball  player 
the  fear  of  the  close-up  is  to  a  film  beauty. 

Then  with  a  cap  on  the  back  of  his  head 
and  a  cigar  in  his  mouth  Briscoe  wrestled 
with  the  pump  handle  after  this  fashion : 

"Good  God,  princess,  how  sorry  you  feel 
for  yourself !  Think !  That  white  woman  has 
stolen  your  husband!"  (French  was  still 
Na-shi-go.)  "Every  wrong  that  men  commit 
has  been  committed  against  you,  and  you  have 
no  redress.  You  are  an  outcast  among  your 
own  people.  Young  and  beautiful,  your  life  is 
ruined,  and  now  they  are  going  to  take  the 
baby  away  from  you.  ..."  Briscoe  was 
walking  up  and  down,  excited  and  much 
moved.  "The  child  is  so  patient  and  gentle. 
...  It  has  only  one  pitiful  little  stick  with  a 
rag  about  it  for  a  doll  to  play  with,  and  at 
night  its  little  arms  steal  about  your  neck  so 


48  Star  of  the  North 

warm  and  soft  and  trusting!"  He  turned  to 
her,  tears  in  his  eyes.  "And  they're  going  to 
take  it  away  from  you,  the  only  thing  you 
have,  your  one  last  pitiful  possession.  My 
God,  will  they  leave  you  nothing! " 

He  was  directly  in  front  of  French  now  and 
he  suddenly  thrust  his  head  forward  and 
looked  in  her  eyes. 

"Hell  !  Dry  as  a  bone!"  he  snorted  and, 
drawing  a  handkerchief  to  wipe  his  own  tears 
away,  prepared  to  put  on  more  agony. 

He  succeeded  at  last,  not  through  tenderness 
but  by  a  lengthy  disquisition  on  French's 
defects  as  an  actress.  They  were  tears  of  rage 
he  evoked,  but  they  were  tears. 

"Snatch  it!"  he  told  Gene  Perkins,  wearily, 
and  the  precious  pearls  were  ground  into  the 
black  box  to  be  preserved  forever.  .  .  . 

Then  came  a  day  when  it  was  too  dark  to 
"shoot,"  and  Paul  dragged  Briscoe  to  Fort 
McLeod  in  the  interest  of  the  "location. " 

' '  Fort,  me  eye !  What  do  I  want  with  a  fort  ? 
Scenario  doesn't  call  for  it, "  growled  the 
director,  as  they  walked  down  to  the  river. 


Baillie  Sets  to  Work  49 

> 

Paul's  answer  was  unintelligible.  His  eye 
was  roving  among  the  craft  tied  to  the  pier. 

"Wonder  where  that  red  canoe  is, "  he  said. 
"These  others  leak.  That's  the  third  time 
this  has  happened." 

"Someone  else  out  probably." 

Temple  did  not  answer  but  as  he  took  his 
place  his  face  grew  stern.  During  the  recent 
busy  time  in  camp,  fortune  had  favoured 
Baillie  in  that  he  had  not  been  needed  for  the 
scenes  taken,  and  Paul  had  noted  his  almost 
continuous  absence.  Since  their  interview 
in  Temple's  tent,  the  two  men  had  tacitly 
avoided  each  other,  but  neither  had  receded 
from  his  position. 

This  morning  when  the  crescent  of  beach 
before  the  fort  came  in  view  the  red  canoe  was 
plainly  visible  drawn  up  on  the  sand.  Paul's 
jaw  tightened.  Baillie  had  a  perfect  right  to 
come  here  of  course,  but  he,  Paul,  would  find 
out  the  results  of  his  coming ! 

When  they  had  climbed  the  steep  path  up 
the  bluff  and  stood  on  the  clearing  before  the 
fort,  Briscoe  stopped  short  in  his  tracks,  his 


50  Star  of  the  North 

bright  eyes  glancing  delightedly  from  one 
detail  to  another  of  the  picturesque  scene. 

"Great!"  he  exclaimed.  "It's  a  find,  Paul! 
Why  didn't  you  drag  me  down  here  by  the 
scruff  of  the  neck?  We've  got  to  have  this! 
That  stockade,  those  Indians,  and  dogs.  Oh, 
Mommer!" 

"But  you  said  a  fort  wasn't  called  for  in  the 
scenario." 

"It  isn't,  but  great  guns,  man,  we'll  put  one 
in.  Let  me  see,  there's  a  dozen  scenes  that  call 
for  a  trapper's  cabin.  We'll  change  'em  to  this 
fort,  and  I'll  work  up  three  or  four  more  to  go 
with  'em.  Hullo,  there's  Baillie.  And  a  girl. " 

The  couple  had  just  emerged  from  the  door 
and  stood  on  the  low  veranda  unconscious  of 
the  visitors.  Baillie  leaning  carelessly  against 
a  post  inclined  towards  June  who  was  looking 
up  at  him  as  if  listening  intently  to  what  he 
said. 

"Yes,  I  brought  her  to  the  camp  the  other 
day,  but  you  didn't  wait  to  see  her,"  said 
Temple,  grimly.  "Let's  go  up. " 

They  advanced,  beating  off  an  attack  of  the 


Baillie  Sets  to  Work  51 

savage  Indian  dogs  and  June,  turning  at  the 
uproar,  saw  them.  Temple  thought  she  gave 
a  start,  but  the  next  instant  she  was  coming 
toward  them  with  her  long,  undulating  stride. 
Baillie,  scowling,  followed  slowly. 

"You  said  you  were  coming  to  see  me  again, 
but  you  didn't,"  the  girl  said  frankly  to 
Temple  when  the  introductions  were  over. 

"  This  is  the  first  chance  I've  had  to  pay  my 
party  call,"  he  returned,  smiling.  "Will  you 
forgive  me  for  not  seeing  you  before  you  left 
the  camp  the  other  day?"  He  wondered 
whether  it  was  imagination  that  made  him 
think  her  cheeks  were  flushed  more  than  he 
remembered  them,  and  her  eyes  brighter. 

"Of  course  .  .  .  but  do  come  up  to  the 
house.  Father  is  back,  and  he's  so  anxious 
to  meet  you."  They  went  forward  together, 
Paul  and  Baillie  nodding  to  each  other  per- 
functorily. 

Briscoe  who,  oblivious  of  the  girl  after  the 
first  moment,  had  been  examining  his  sur- 
roundings, broke  in  sharply: 

"Those  Indians  want  to  earn  some  money?" 


52  Star  of  the  North 

June  laughed. 

"They  couldn't  use  it  if  they  did  earn  it! 
Food  and  guns  and  traps  are  their  money. 
Besides,  they  leave  for  their  hunting  grounds 
tomorrow." 

"Humph!  Don't  let 'em  go.  How  much  of 
their  time  is  a  side  of  bacon  and  a  bag  of  flour 
worth?" 

She  laughed  again,  the  clear,  silvery  laugh 
that  had  seemed  to  Paul  like  the  tinkle  of  one 
of  her  trout  streams. 

"I  don't  know,  but  I'll  ask  them.  But 
come  up  to  the  house  first. " 

As  they  reached  the  veranda  there  appeared 
in  the  open  doorway  a  lean  and  wiry-looking 
man  of  middle  height,  with  grizzled  hair  and 
moustache,  who  examined  his  visitors  with  a 
pair  of  piercing  grey  eyes.  He  was  dressed 
comfortably  in  shoepacks,  corduroys,  and 
faded  jacket.  He  welcomed  his  guests  with 
the  reserve  of  good  breeding,  even  in  offering 
the  generous  hospitality  of  the  Northland,  and 
spoke  with  a  racy  echo  of  his  native  Aberdeen. 

"'Tis   a  gr-reat   thing   you're   doin',    Mr. 


Baillie  Sets  to  Work  53 

Briscoe,  the  lassie  tells  me, "  he  said,  instantly 
selecting  the  fountain  head  of  the  group. 
"Play-actin*  I  conseeder  a  work  of  the  devil, 
but  this,  she  tells  me,  is  somethin'  different. 
Is  there  money  in  it?" 

Briscoe,  who  knew  when  patience  and  much 
talk  were  as  good  an  investment  as  whirlwind 
activity,  drifted  with  lamblike  docility  towards 
the  chair  the  other  indicated.  This  man  was 
the  possessor  of  props  and  scenery  that  the 
Graphic  Company  needed,  and  Briscoe  in- 
tended to  get  them. 

Paul,  June,  and  Baillie  were  left  together 
and  the  situation  grew  difficult.  The  relations 
between  the  men  were  strained,  and  the  con- 
versation steadily  became  more  trite  and 
perfunctory.  Paul  noticed  that  June  seemed 
conscious  of  this;  or,  if  not  that,  he  thought, 
some  influence  was  working  in  her.  Her 
vivacity  was  not  the  ingenuous  outpouring  of 
delight  and  surprise  that  had  so  charmed  him 
during  their  first  meeting.  It  seemed  a  little 
forced,  and  a  feeling  grew  in  him  that  she  was 
extremely  conscious  of  Baillie 's  presence. 


54  Star  of  the  North 

The  symptom  was  as  plain  as  day  to  Temple. 
It  was  the  embarrassed  unnaturalness  of  a 
fifteen-year-old  girl  experiencing  her  first 
romance.  Except,  he  thought,  grimly,  June, 
for  all  her  innocence  and  unsophistication,  was 
a  woman  grown,  with  correspondingly  deep 
and  intense  feelings. 

Temple  felt  instinctively  that  he  was  ex- 
pected to  join  the  two  on  the  veranda,  but  he 
sat  firm  as  a  rock  where  he  was.  This  was  the 
thing  he  had  feared,  and  he  determined  to 
counteract  it  if  he  had  to  stay  all  night. 
Underneath  his  pleasant,  whimsical  banter  a 
chill,  sick  feeling  grew  in  him. 

At  last  Baillie,  who  since  the  arrival  of  the 
others  had  been  morose  and  sullen,  made  an 
excuse  for  going  and  disappeared  towards  the 
river.  Then  Temple  and  the  girl  as  if  by 
common  consent  drifted  to  the  far  edge  of 
the  clearing  and  sat  down  on  a  wind-fallen 
log. 

"It's  good  to  see  you  again,"  he  said, 
simply.  "Somehow  you  make  one  forget 
that  there  is  such  an  ant-hill  as  New  York, 


Baillie  Sets  to  Work  55 

and  such  things  as  struggle  and  hatred  and 
disappointment. " 

She  turned  big,  wondering  eyes  upon  him. 

"Do  you  think  that!  Oh,  but  think  of 
living  in  New  York!  It  must  be  wonderful. 
Is  it  true  that  there  are  buildings  taller  than 
that  big  tree?  "  She  pointed. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "you  could  put  two  trees 
as  tall  on  top  of  that  one,  and  leave  enough  of 
the  building  for  a  thousand  suffocating  people 
to  live  in." 

' '  Oh-h ! "  It  was  the  exclamation  of  a  child. 
"And  is  Broadway  so  bright  at  night  that  it's 
just  like  day?" 

He  turned  to  her  with  a  kind  of  pity. 
Baillie's  track  was  plain. 

"Yes,  but  it  doesn't  prevent  people  shooting 
each  other  down  when  they  want  to.  Why 
are  you  curious  about  all  these  things?  What 
do  you  care  about  New  York  when  you  have 
this  glorious,  clean,  free  life  to  live?"  His 
heart  was  sick  within  him.  His  predecessor 
had  worked  with  the  subtlest  poison  at  his 
command. 


56  Star  of  the  North 

"Freedom!"  She  said  the  word  musingly, 
not  passionately.  "  How  is  this  freedom,  when 
I  never  go  anywhere,  and  never  see  anyone. 
There's  so  much  to  do,  and  know,  and  see,  and 
I've  had  none  of  it.  Isn't  it  wasting  my  life  to 
stay  here?" 

Her  gaze  was  troubled,  and  all  the  dreams 
and  ideals  that  she  had  newly  awakened  in 
him  cried  out  against  that  first  shadow  of 
discontent. 

"No  life  is  wasted  that  is  happy,  wherever 
it  is,"  he  replied  earnestly.  "A  hundred 
years  in  New  York  or  anywhere  else  could 
never  give  you  the  things  you  have  now,  the 
different  things  that  make  you  seem  so  wonder- 
ful to  me. ' '  He  checked  himself.  ' '  And  as  for 
the  other  things,  the  cheap  and  flashy  things, 
they  never  bring  anybody  happiness.  Believe 
me,  Miss  Magregor,  I  know." 

She  gazed  straight  before  her  across  the 
clearing,  her  eyes  vague  with  the  awakened 
longings  and  dreams  of  youth.  As  he  studied 
her  profile  it  seemed  as  delicately  chiselled  as 
a  cameo.  Her  hair  was  a  soft,  dark  mass, 


Baillie  Sets  to  Work  57 

and  the  skin  of  bare  throat  and  hands  finely 
textured  beneath  its  tan. 

Briscoe  and  Fleming  Magregor  had  left  the 
porch  now  and  were  talking  to  one  of  the 
Indians  near  the  discoloured  tepee.  A  damp, 
cold  wind  that  seemed  to  presage  the  early 
winter  roared  through  the  great  pines  and 
made  Temple  shiver  despite  his  mackinaw. 
But  June  was  oblivious  of  it.  She  spoke  finally 
without  turning  to  him. 

"I  believe  you — I  can't  help  it.  But  that 
doesn't  satisfy  me.  Because  you've  known  all 
these  wonderful  things,  you  can  choose,  but 
I  haven't  known  them.  I  want  to  be  able  to 
choose,  but  I  never  can  if  I  stay  here.  I'll  be 
like  a  log  that  gets  in  a  backwater  in  the  spring ; 
the  river  goes  on  rushing  by  all  the  time, 
and  the  log  simply  drifts  in  a  circle  or  gets 
stranded.  I'm  stranded  here,  and  life  goes  by. " 

Temple  was  silent  for  a  moment.  The  flash 
of  uncannily  mature  logic  was  unanswerable; 
it  was  the  logic  of  youth  which  has  burst  its 
shell  and  glimpsed  for  the  first  time  the  possi- 
bilities that  life  holds. 


58  Star  of  the  North 

"  See  here ! "  He  made  his  words  light  with 
a  laugh.  "The  day  you  rescued  me  you 
weren't  like  this.  You  were  proud  to  live  here 
and  utterly  happy.  New  York  and  you 
shouldn't  be  mentioned  in  the  same  breath! 
The  blight  of  it  has  touched  you  now,  and 
everything  you  learn  about  it  will  take  away 
something  more  that  you  can  never  get  back. 
You  have  lost  something  already." 

She  looked  at  him  now,  seriously,  stirred 
by  the  sincerity  of  his  feeling. 

"I've  lost  something?" 

"Yes,  without  knowing  it;  as  a  butterfly 
loses  the  down  on  its  wings." 

"Oh  !"  The  comparison  was  of  her  own 
woods  and  she  grasped  it.  She  sat  for  a  long 
time  silent,  her  brow  knotted,  her  underlip 
indrawn  by  her  teeth.  Then  she  seemed 
to  come  to  some  decision  and  her  brow 
cleared. 

"Yes,  but  think  of  all  I'm  gaining,"  she 
said,  naively.  "And  now  let's  not  be  serious 
any  longer.  .  .  .  Tell  me  more  about  New 
York!" 


Baillie  Sets  to  Work  59 

He  knew  then  he  was  beaten  and  studied 
the  ground  before  him  for  a  little. 

"Well,"  he  smiled,  at  last,  "where  shall  we 
begin?" 

Inside  him  was  a  gone,  hopeless  feeling;  a 
feeling  of  futility;  of  beating  vainly  against 
a  wall.  Baillie  had  scored  first,  and  with 
weapons  more  deadly  than  steel.  Not  only 
had  he  filled  June's  mind  with  the  pictures 
most  likely  to  impress  it,  but  he  had  fired  her 
imagination  regarding  himself. 

Temple  could  see  this  as  plainly  as  if  she  had 
told  him,  and  he  thought  grimly  that  the  time 
when  the  other's  business  should  become  his 
own  was  almost  at  hand.  And  beneath  the 
mingled  pity,  regret,  and  jealousy  that  con- 
sumed him,  every  fibre  of  his  being  longed  for 
the  physical  encounter  between  them  that 
he  knew  now  was  inevitable. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   REVELATION 

JACK   BAILLIE   studied  the  fresh  young 

face  of  the  girl  opposite  him  in  the  canoe. 

Floating  idly  in  the  still  backwater  in  the  lee 

of  a  little  island,  they  had  been  fishing,  but 

now  their  rods  lay  disused  across  the  gunwales. 

"Won't  you  believe  I  love  you,  June,"  he 
asked,  softly,  a  spark  kindling  in  his  daring 
black  eyes. 

She  sat  looking  down  at  her  hands  that 
were  folded  in  her  lap,  grave,  half -troubled,  as 
if  she  were  coping  with  a  new  and  difficult 
situation. 

"Yes,"  she  hesitated,  "I  believe  you.  If 
you  say  you  love  me  you  must  mean  it. " 

"And  don't  you  love  me  a  little  in  return?" 
he  pleaded.  "I  don't  ask  much,  only  a  little. " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Jack.     I  like  you,  but — 
60 


A  Revelation  61 

Oh,  it's  all  so  strange.  Why  should  you  love 
me  when  you've  known  all  the  beautiful 
women  in  New  York!"  This  was  not  ques- 
tion, it  was  amazement. 

"Beautiful!"  His  tone  conveyed  utter 
scorn.  "Why,  little  girl,  compared  with  you 
they're  the  poultry  in  an  old  chorus  girls' 
Home.  I  tell  you  you're  the  prettiest  thing 
God  ever  made!  And  you're  wasting  your 
life  here."  His  voice  softened  and  he  leaned 
forward  a  little.  "I'm  crazy  about  you, 
dear,  and  I'm  simply  going  to  make  you  love 
me." 

Something  masterful  in  his  voice  caused  her 
to  lift  her  eyes  and  she  met  his  with  a  little 
catch  of  the  breath.  With  his  sleek  black 
hair,  and  handsome,  imperious  face  he  seemed 
to  her  a  hero  of  romance,  compelling  and 
determined.  She  dropped  her  gaze  again, 
flushed,  flattered,  confused. 

"I  don't  think  you  ought  to — talk  to  me 
that  way.  It  isn't  right,  is  it?" 

"Right!  Of  course  it's  right!  Isn't  it 
right  for  a  man  to  tell  a  woman  he  loves  her? 


62  Star  of  the  North 

And  if  it  was  wrong  I'd  tell  you  just  the  same. 
Do  you  suppose  I  could  help  it?  And  now 
that  I've  told  you  I'm  not  going  to  let  you 
forget  it.  When  my  work  is  finished  here  I'm 
going  to  take  you  away  with  me  to  New  York 
where  you  belong.  Why,  you'd  be  the  queen 
there  in  a  week!" 

"Oh,  do  you  really  think  so?"  Her  ques- 
tion was  eager,  and  her  vivid  face  alive  with 
the  anticipation  of  wonders. 

"Do  I  think  so!  I  know  it!  Why,  little 
girl," — he  put  his  hand  out  and  took  hers — 
"together  there's  nothing  we  couldn't  get 
away  with  in  that  glory  hole! " 

Under  his  touch  she  sat  quite  still  for  a 
moment.  Then,  as  if  with  an  effort,  she  with- 
drew her  hand  from  his.  Was  it  intuitive 
fear  or  the  race-old  virginal  recoil? 

"Please,  you  mustn't  do  that,"  she  said, 
very  low. 

A  black  look  of  chagrin  passed  over  his  face 
and  he  glanced  at  her  keenly. 

"Oh,  won't  anything  stir  you? "  he  asked,  in 
a  hopeless  voice.  "Are  you  made  of  ice?  But 


A  Revelation  63 

then  I  might  have  known  you  didn't  love  me — 
don't  even  like  me."  His  voice  trailed  off 
tragically. 

It  was  the  old  familiar  flank  attack  of 
Byronic  desolation  and  self-pity.  Her  quick 
sympathy  responded  with  a  flash  of  that 
mothering  contrition  that  has  flattered  men 
for  ages. 

"  Oh,  I  do,  I  do  like  you,  better  than  anyone 
I've  ever  known!  You  must  be  patient  with 
me,  Jack.  I  never  met  anyone — like  you  be- 
fore." Then  her  maiden  reserve  took  com- 
mand again.  "And  I  do  so  want  to  go  to 
New  York!  But  of  course  I'd  have  to  talk 
it  all  over  with  father.  I  don't  know  how  I 
could  leave  him." 

Baillie's  face  for  a  fleeting  fraction  of  a 
second  mirrored  an  expression  that  would 
have  puzzled  her  had  she  seen  it.  Then  he 
smiled  tenderly. 

"I'm  sorry  I  was  cross,"  he  said.  "My 
confounded  temperament,  I  suppose.  But " — 
his  voice  dropped  to  a  confidential  tone — 
"let's  keep  our  little  plan  about  New  York 


64  Star  of  the  North 

a  secret  for  a  while,  shall  we?  It'll  be  just 
between  ourselves,  eh?  Even  your  father 
shan't  know.  Will  you  do  it?" 

Happy  once  more  in  the  sun  of  his  good 
humour,  she  answered  his  smile  with  one 
equally  bright. 

"Oh,  that  will  be  fun.  Yes,  of  course. 
And  now  shall  we  go  back?  " 

When  they  had  landed  and  climbed  up  to  the 
fort,  a  "take"  was  under  way  in  the  clearing. 
Every  day  now  the  Graphics  came  down  to 
Fort  McLeod  and  "shot"  the  scenes  that  Bris- 
coe's  genius  had  devised.  Now  the  director, 
with  the  amused  factor  to  interpret,  was 
instructing  the  Ojibways  whom  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  hiring,  in  the  "business"  for  the 
scene. 

Temple  saw  June  and  Baillie  arrive  and  his 
face  darkened.  During  the  days  since  his  first 
talk  with  her  he  had  felt  that  he  was  steadily 
losing  ground.  Though  he  had  been  with  her 
as  often  as  he  could,  the  consciousness  of  some- 
thing forcing  its  way  between  them  had 
grown  upon  him. 


A  Revelation  65 

He  had  not  been  so  foolish  as  to  argue  or 
criticize  or  disparage  the  influence  of  Baillie; 
he  had  only  sought  by  maintaining  his  normal 
gay  camaraderie  with  June  to  offset  the  atten- 
tions of  the  other.  He  thought  to  save  her 
not  only  from  the  man  but  from  herself. 

So  far  he  did  not  believe  that  she  really 
loved  Baillie,  but  rather  that  her  quick,  un- 
tried fancy  had  been  snared  by  his  superficial 
charm.  That  she  thought  of  him  as  a  ro- 
mantic figure  inhabiting  a  desirable  world  and 
moving  among  great  people,  was  evident ;  but 
this  was  fascination  not  love,  Temple  reasoned. 
A  single  step  and  the  hair-line  between  this 
and  infatuation  would  be  crossed.  Could  he 
prevent  it? 

Paul  found  his  position  growing  more  and 
more  difficult.  He  dared  not  take  an  aggres- 
sive part  against  Baillie,  for  he  had  not  forgot- 
ten the  event  that  drew  nearer  and  nearer 
each  day — his  wife's  arrival.  The  event  was 
imminent  now.  Paul  had  reckoned  carefully 
and  knew  that,  granting  her  time  to  prepare 
for  the  trip,  she  must  be  on  the  next  boat  due 


66  Star  of  the  North 

down  river  from  the  railroad  terminus.  Suc- 
cessive mails  had  brought  no  further  word 
from  her,  and  he  took  this  to  mean  that  she 
was  on  the  way. 

In  that  knowledge  he  shaped  his  conduct. 
He  fought  stubbornly  to  put  from  his  mind 
any  consideration  of  June  except  that  of  her 
welfare.  All  thought  of  loving  her  he  crushed, 
but  with  a  sensation  of  beating  into  stunned 
silence  the  quickest,  vividest  part  of  him. 

This  was  possible  so  long  as  he  believed  that 
June's  interest  in  Baillie  was  no  more  than 
friendly.  Then,  one  afternoon  some  days 
later,  came  a  revelation,  a  crisis,  and  a  change. 

Briscoe  was  in  his  element.  The  "Wilder- 
ness Idyl"  was  shaping  up  well,  and  the  new 
scenes  were  adding  just  that  touch  of  convic- 
tion his  instinct  told  him  the  film  had  formerly 
lacked. 

The  entire  company  was  at  Fort  McLeod 
as  it  had  been  almost  daily  of  late.  The  set- 
up was  in  the  clearing  before  the  fort,  and  the 
focus  lines  included  the  front  of  the  dwelling, 
half  of  the  big  trading  storehouse  to  the  right, 


A  Revelation  67 

the  Indian  "village,"  and  the  inevitable 
background  of  pointed  and  spurred  spruces. 

Gene  Perkins  had  his  "still"  camera  (a 
regular  plate  affair  for  snapping  the  most 
exciting  scenes)  beside  his  big  Powers,  and  was 
gauging  his  "shooting"  distance.  His  large 
cap  was  turned  with  the  visor  to  the  back  and 
he  looked  like  an  aviator. 

"Nine-foot  firing  line?"  he  inquired  of 
Briscoe  to  find  out  his  distance  from  the 
principal  action. 

"Nope,  twenty-five."  The  director  ran 
outside  one  of  the  white  tape-lines  a  property 
man  had  laid  down,  and  dropped  his  hand- 
kerchief. 

"  Camera  pick  up  anything  here?  "  he  asked. 

Gene  sighted. 

"Nope." 

"All  right."  Briscoe  turned  to  three  or 
four  men  in  trapper's  costume,  and  beckoned 
them.  "You  fellows  make  your  entrance 
from  here.  You  come  on  talking  together 
quiet  enough,  but  when  you  see  Baillie  and 
Tanner  come  staggering  in  from  the  other  side 


68  Star  of  the  North 

of  the  clearing — they're  starving,  you  know, 
and  there'll  be  a  close-up  of  that — you  get  all 
interest  and  excitement." 

The  native  O  jib  ways  revised  their  tribal 
ideas  of  war  paint  when  they  saw  the  Gra- 
phic feminine  contingent.  The  women  were 
ghastly,  their  faces  covered  with  a  powder, 
phosphorus  yellow  in  hue.  Their  eyes  and 
eyebrows  were  heavily  blacked  and  their 
lashes  "beaded."  That  is,  by  means  of  a 
toothpick  with  hot  black  wax,  each  lash  had 
been  gummed  thick  and  tipped  with  a  tiny 
drop  of  the  stuff. 

It  was  a  process  which  lent  an  enlarged  and 
starry  look  to  the  eyes,  and  was  necessary  for 
distance  "takes."  In  these  masks  of  yellow 
and  black  the  women's  scarlet  mouths  looked 
like  fresh  razor  gashes. 

In  the  midst  of  Briscoe's  liveliest  man- 
oeuvres, June  Magregor  appeared  in  the  door- 
way of  the  low,  solidly -built  dwelling  and 
stood  watching  the  preparations.  One  bare 
arm  rested  against  the  door- jamb  above  her 
head,  and  her  slim,  lithe  body  fell  into  lines 


A  Revelation  69 

of  easy  grace  as  instinctive  as  those  of  some 
unwatched  wild  thing.  The  director,  looking 
up,  saw  her,  and  his  eyes  lighted. 

"Perfect  type!"  he  grunted.  "Half  the 
atmosphere  of  the  scene."  Then,  forgetful 
of  half -posed  groups,  he  hurled  his  chunky 
body  in  her  direction. 

"Morning,  Miss  Magregor.  We're  going 
to  'shoot'  a  scene  with  this  doorway  in  it,  and 
I  wish  you  would  stay  right  where  you  are  and 
hold  that  pose.  Will  you?" 

"  Oh,  you  want  me  in  a  picture?  "  She  was 
animated  at  once.  "Shall  I  stay  just  like 
this?" 

"Yes.  Two  people  supposed  to  be  starving 
come  in  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  clearing 
and  I  want  you  to  stand  here  and  watch 
them." 

"Why,  that  very  thing  happened  here 
winter  before  last!"  she  exclaimed,  but  he  did 
not  hear  her.  He  had  turned  away  and  was 
beckoning  Elsie  Tanner. 

"Make  Miss  Magregor  up,"  he  directed. 
"She'll  be  in  the  picture  this  morning." 


70  Star  of  the  North 

Half  an  hour  later,  with  a  last  look  around, 
he  went  to  a  table  just  outside  the  camera  lines 
on  which  were  numerous  scripts,  weighted 
down  against  the  breeze  with  stones.  One  of 
these  was  the  typewritten  scenario,  and  an- 
other a  paper  ruled  in  several  columns  which 
contained  a  tabulated  summary  by  number  of 
all  the  characters,  costumes,  and  scenes. 
Checking  briefly  by  this  latter,  he  verified  the 
layout  before  him. 

"All  ready,  children!"  he  bawled.  "Now 
listen.  This  is  the  story.  Temple  has  sent 
his  'wife,'  Tanner,  south  to  a  certain  lake  in 
care  of  a  trapper — (that's  Baillie).  The  prin- 
cess Na-shi-go's  tribe,  in  revenge  for  the  fact 
that  Temple  has  deserted  her  and  married  the 
white  woman,  have  followed  these  two  and 
stolen  their  camp  outfit  and  guns.  For  days 
they  have  been  without  food,  and  they  reach 
this  fort  in  a  starving  condition.  Got  it?" 

There  was  a  general  assent  and  he  threw 
down  the  script. 

"All  right,  then.     Places!" 
• 

The  two  score  minor  people,  including  the 


A  Revelation  71 

Ojibways,  went  through  actions  intended  to 
portray  the  life  of  the  post  in  the  busy  time  of 
early  summer.  June,  made  up  by  this  time, 
was  in  her  station  in  the  doorway. 

"Is  it  all  right?"  Briscoe  asked  Fleming 
Magregor  and  Temple  who  stood  back  of  the 
camera,  and  were  judging  the  effect. 

"Very  good,"  both  pronounced,  one  from 
the  realistic  and  the  other  from  the  technical 
point  of  view. 

"Thanks.  Places  again.  Now  Baillie  and 
Tanner." 

The  two  principals  who  were  out  of  sight  in 
a  thicket  to  the  extreme  right,  emerged  waver- 
ing in  their  tracks  and  exhibiting  what  were 
meant  to  be  signs  of  starvation.  But  Briscoe 
roared : 

"Baillie,  Baillie,  you're  asleep!  You're  dy- 
ing on  your  feet!  Remember  you're  starving! 
You've  got  the  biggest  belly-ache  in  the  world. 
And  drag  Tanner." 

The  two  laughed  and  returned  to  their 
starting  place. 

"All  right.     Come  ahead." 


72  Star  of  the  North 

Temple,  who  was  not  in  the  picture,  looked 
at  June.  But  he  did  not  see  in  her  graceful, 
un-self-conscious  pose  only  a  bit  of  atmos- 
phere. He  saw  in  it  the  expression  of  some- 
thing as  rare  and  beautiful  as  the  opening  of  a 
flower — the  free  spirit  of  the  wilderness  before 
man  has  found  and  despoiled  it. 

She  was  oblivious  of  him  and  stood  with 
her  attention  fixed  on  the  action  of  the  two 
principals,  who  were  now  crossing  the  clearing. 
Baillie  who,  despite  his  personal  character, 
was  a  juvenile  actor  of  exceptional  talent, 
had  caught  Briscoe's  idea  and  was  acting  up 
to  his  part.  Ragged,  gaunt-looking,  weak,  he 
staggered  on,  half -dragging  Tanner. 

June  straightened  up  and  Temple  saw  her 
face  change  unconsciously  from  curiosity  to 
concern.  The  dire  distress  of  the  two  seemed 
actually  to  have  stirred  her. 

"By  gad,"  muttered  Briscoe  to  Paul,  "the 
girl's  got  imagination.  She's  acting,  she  can't 
help  it." 

Temple  nodded.  Meanwhile  the  minor 
characters  were  playing  their  parts.  Indians 


A  Revelation  73 

and  trappers  registered  surprise,  then  interest, 
then  excitement.  They  moved  towards  the 
starving  pair. 

Then  Temple  who  was  still  watching  June, 
saw  another  look  come  into  her  face,  a  look  of 
naked  anguish  and  pity  that  startled  him. 
And  suddenly  her  emotions  expressed  them- 
selves in  action.  Totally  forgetful  of  Briscoe's 
directions,  she  left  her  place  in  the  doorway, 
and  with  swift  strides  went  towards  the  cen- 
tral group. 

Others  had  already  gathered  about  the 
principals,  but  the  girl  pushed  her  way  through 
and  went  straight  to  Baillie.  So  naturally  did 
she  do  it,  and  so  surely,  that  in  a  moment  she 
was  in  charge,  giving  directions  and  dominat- 
ing the  scene.  She  clung  to  Baillie,  supporting 
him,  and  as  he  leaned  on  her,  simulating  weak- 
ness, she  bent  over  him  with  a  swift  look  of 
compassion  and  tenderness  that  to  Temple 
was  like  the  tearing  of  a  veil  before  sacred 
things. 

' '  Holy  cat !  The  girl's  great ! ' '  cried  Briscoe, 
and  then  bounding  forward,  shouted,  "Whoa! 


74  Star  of  the  North 

That'll  do.  Now  we'll  'shoot'  it.  And  Miss 
Magregor,  I  want  you  to  repeat  exactly  what 
you  did  this  time — see?" 

At  the  first  sound  of  the  director's  voice, 
June  had  started  with  the  violence  of  her 
wrench  back  to  reality.  Now  drawing  away 
from  Baillie  who  was  grinning  at  his  success, 
she  looked  confused  and  embarrassed. 

"Never  mind  about  disobeying  orders," 
Briscoe  comforted  her.  "You  got  away  with 
it,  and  I'll  forgive  you. " 

At  one  side  Fleming  Magregor  watched  his 
daughter's  debut  in  silence,  his  pride  in  her 
achievement  wrestling  with  his  Scotch  con- 
science. 

As  June  went  back  to  her  station,  Temple 
turned  away  from  the  scene  and  walked  down 
towards  the  river.  He  wanted  to  be  alone. 
He  felt  as  if  his  whole  being  were  afire.  That 
look,  that  moment  of  tenderness,  had  re- 
vealed to  him  the  existence  of  the  thing  he  had 
dreaded  above  all  others — that  June  was  be- 
ginning to  love  Baillie. 

That  she  had  betrayed  the  fact  uncon- 


A  Revelation  75 

sciously,  was  to  him  the  surest  proof  of  its 
truth ;  it  revealed  an  inner  state  of  mind  which 
she  probably  did  not  as  yet  realize  herself. 
Baillie's  gradual  furtive  campaign  had  swept 
her  unknowing  beyond  her  depth. 

And  with  this  realization  of  June's  love  for 
the  other,  came  a  second:  namely,  that,  fight 
and  deny  as  he  would,  he  loved  June.  Her  act 
had  been  the  tiny  flame  to  set  off  the  train  long 
laid  in  his  heart.  His  thought,  that  first  day 
of  their  meeting,  that  perhaps  she  of  all  the 
women  in  the  world  was  to  awaken  the  great 
love  of  his  life,  he  knew  now  to  have  been 
divination. 

His  long  years  of  waiting  had  reached  their 
inevitable  culmination  here,  and  he  was  as 
powerless  to  stay  the  sweep  of  forces  within 
him,  as  he  was  to  push  back  the  flow  of  the 
river  along  which  he  walked  towards  camp. 

And  what  now  would  be  the  effect  upon  his 
life  of  these  revelations  with  their  concomi- 
tant struggles  and  readjustments? 

The  first  was  to  effect  a  swift  and  complete 
reversal  of  his  attitude  towards  Baillie.  He 


76  Star  of  the  North 

shook  himself  free  from  the  passive  course  he 
had  felt  obliged  to  maintain,  and  determined 
to  master  not  only  the  man  but  his  influence. 

He  felt  with  absolute  conviction  that  June's 
infatuation  for  the  other  (he  admitted  its 
existence  now)  was  not  love,  though  she  might 
think  it  was,  and  he  longed  to  show  her,  by 
the  glory  of  the  thing  that  burned  in  his  heart, 
the  contrast  between  the  two  emotions. 

But  here  he  came  face  to  face  with  his  second 
and  greater  problem.  He  himself  was  not  free. 
Yet,  after  long  thought,  frankly  admitting 
this,  he  still  claimed  June. 

"Because  I  made  one  mistake,  must  I  pay 
for  it  all  my  life?"  he  asked  himself.  "Have 
I  no  right  to  happiness?" 

His  head  was  bent  and  his  face  lined  with 
pain  as  he  walked,  fighting  this  bitterest 
battle.  Then,  because  love,  to  those  natures 
which  ring  truest,  is  a  medium  for  giving,  not 
getting,  he  pushed  his  own  desires  aside. 

To  save  June!  That  was  the  first  thing. 
After  that,  perhaps,  the  knotted  problem  of 
his  own  desires.  It  would  require  time,  that 


A  Revelation  77 

rescue,  and  it  would  require  more:  an  ardent 
courtship  which  he  had  not  the  right  to  pay. 

A  gust  of  anger  shook  him.  Right  or  not, 
he  should  pay  it.  The  end  justified  the  means. 
The  hopeless  pain  such  a  course  might  cause 
him  he  did  not  reckon,  for,  thinking  of  her, 
his  desired  of  the  world,  pain  and  longing 
became  as  nought.  Just  a  little  time,  he 
pleaded,  just  a  little  time! 

The  trail  debouched  into  the  camp  clearing, 
practically  deserted  now  except  for  the  cooks 
who  were  rattling  about  the  big  range  under 
the  cook  tent  in  the  first  preparations  for 
dinner.  Acrid  wood  smoke  from  the  stove- 
pipe stung  his  nostrils. 

Paul  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  bank  that 
shelved  down  to  the  little  natural  cove  where 
was  the  camp  landing  and  pier,  and  looked 
across  the  river.  The  afternoon  was  drawing 
down,  and  the  dense  green  of  the  trees  on  the 
opposite  bank  looked  almost  black.  The  sun 
and  a  tingling  breeze  were  in  his  face. 

Then,  as  he  stood,  one  of  two  men  who  were 
working  about  an  empty  barge  at  the  water's 


78  Star  of  the  North 

edge,  suddenly  stood  erect  and  shaded  his 
eyes  up-river.  Then  he  bellowed  joyously, 
"Boat  ahoy!"  and  pointed. 

Paul  looked,  and  in  the  weltering  gold  of  a 
far  bend  made  out  an  inch-long  black  speck 
which  familiarity  had  taught  him  was  one  of 
the  great  camp  flatboats. 

Instantly  his  whole  world  crashed  about 
him.  In  the  intense  depth  of  thought  and 
feeling  the  realization  of  his  love  had  brought, 
he  had  forgotten  it.  Now  the  meaning  of  its 
approach  came  home  with  terrific  force. 

On  that  boat  was  Gertrude.  By  evening 
the  whole  camp  would  know  of  his  marriage, 
and,  the  next  day,  June.  Who  would  there 
be  then  to  oppose  Baillie?  And  who  to  save 
the  girl  who  could  not  save  herself?  What 
too,  of  all  his  new-sprung  hopes  and  dreams? 


CHAPTER  VII 
A  "CUT-  BACK"  TO  MANHATTAN 


TEMPLE  watched  dumbly  as 
the  boat  bearing  his  wife  drew  steadily 
nearer.  Now  he  could  make  out  the  helms- 
man by  the  big  steering  sweep  in  the  stern, 
and  two  other  men  running  back  and  forth 
along  the  gunwales,  long  poles  balanced  in 
their  hands.  Then,  at  two  hundred  yards 
distance,  a  fourth  figure  rose  and  detached 
itself  from  the  high-piled  cargo,  and  Paul  saw 
that  it  was  a  woman. 

Then  whatever  last  faint  hope  had  flickered 
in  him  died.  Plans  and  dreams  went  out  with 
it,  and  a  grim  resignation  took  their  place. 
He  shrugged.  Since  she  had  come,  he  would 
play  the  game.  He  had  always  played  it, 
and  he  would  play  it  now.  But  she  should 

79 


8o  Star  of  the  North 

play  it  too,  he  told  himself;  from  now  on  there 
should  be  a  better  and  a  final  understanding. 

The  boat  was  drawing  close,  and  Temple 
turned  slowly  to  go  down  and  meet  it.  To  do 
this  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  circle  back 
through  a  little  tongue  of  woods  before  he 
could  reach  the  path  leading  down  the  bank. 
When  he  emerged  the  scow  was  just  warped 
alongside  the  pier,  and  as  he  watched  he  saw 
the  woman  leap  ashore.  Even  at  this  distance 
her  Broadway  clothes  were  unmistakable — 
a  travelling  dress  and  hat  of  the  latest  cut  and 
material,  both  of  which  seemed  strangely 
out  of  place  here  where  dress  had  been  modi- 
fied to  the  primitive  requirement  of  usefulness. 

The  woman  turned  back  to  talk  to  the  boat- 
men for  a  moment,  and  was  lost  to  sight. 
Then  when  Paul  had  stepped  on  the  pier  and 
was  quite  close,  she  reappeared  and  they  were 
face  to  face. 

He  stopped  short  in  amazement.  The 
woman  was  not  Gertrude. 

"My  Gawd!"  shouted  the  lady,  joyfully, 
and  ran  towards  him.  "If  it  ain't  Paul 


A  "Cut-Back"  to  Manhattan       81 

Temple!  Kid,  I'm  that  far  away  from  home 
an'  mother  I  could  bawl!" 

"Goldie  Burke!"  He  could  hardly  speak. 
To  find  this  old  friend,  a  member  of  the  New 
York  Graphic  Company,  when  he  had  ex- 
pected Gertrude,  struck  him  aghast.  "What 
are  you  doing  here!"  he  managed  to  say  amid 
the  whirl  of  his  emotions. 

"  Tryin'  to  keep  from  kissin'  you,  old  dear ! " 
She  seized  his  out-stretched  hands  effusively. 
"Briscoe  wired  for  me  to  come  an'  do  mother 
parts  in  some  small  stuff  he's  goin'  to  take, 
and  I'm  here.  But  Lord,  I'm  homesick!" 

As  they  turned  up  the  hill  she  rattled  on, 
shaking  her  hat  straight  on  her  tousled  yellow 
hair  with  a  flirt  of  her  head,  and  vigorously 
chewing  gum. 

'  And  were  you  the  only  passenger — the  only 
woman  to  come  down  on  the  boat?"  Paul 
asked  incredulously,  when  he  had  some- 
what recovered  himself. 

"Was  I!  You  said  it.  Wasn't  it  just  like 
Briscoe  to  make  me  travel  out  here  alone  with 
three  men?  What  does  he  care  for  a  woman's 

6 


82  Star  of  the  North 

reppitation  and  virtue?  But  I've  got  a  gun 
an'  I  slept  with  it  every  night." 

With  growing  joy  and  a  sense  of  exultant 
freedom  from  a  horrible  oppression,  Temple 
guided  the  voluble  Goldie  up  the  new  and 
dismal  Broadway.  Gertrude  had  not  come. 
He  was  just  commencing  to  realize  it  now. 
The  reason  he  did  not  know  nor  care.  But  it 
was  typical,  he  thought,  of  her  treatment  of 
him,  and  it  gave  him  hope  that  perhaps  she 
was  not  coming  at  all. 

Granting  her  time  for  preparation,  today's 
boat  was  the  logical  one  for  her  to  have  caught. 
The  arrival  of  the  next  was  problematical,  as 
this  cargo  comprised  the  last  shipment  of 
camp  supplies  expected  for  some  time. 

And  now  the  battle  for  June! 

At  the  moment  when  Paul  recognized  Goldie 
Burke,  Gertrude  Temple,  or  Gertrude  Mackay 
as  she  was  called,  was  as  far  away  from  him 
in  thought  as  she  was  in  body.  Seated  at  a 
table  next  the  brass  railing  of  a  Broadway 
"tango  palace,"  she  was  laughing  gaily  at 


A  " Cut-Back"  to  Manhattan       83 

the  rather  heavy  jest  of  the  man  opposite  her. 

She  was  a  pretty  woman  of  the  "stagey" 
type  which  has  made  such  heavy  inroads  on 
the  younger  English  nobility.  Beautifully 
dressed  in  the  filmiest  of  summer  gowns,  and 
with  every  feminine  art  to  aid,  she  looked 
young  and  blooming — almost  girlish.  But 
the  close  observer  would  have  noted  a  look  of 
hardness  about  the  corners  of  her  turquoise 
blue  eyes,  and  the  faintest  suggestion  of 
weariness  in  their  mirth.  Her  painted  lips 
were  scarlet,  her  teeth  small,  even,  and  white. 

"Honest,  Al, "  she  confided,  "it's  a  treat  to 
come  here  with  you.  Every  girl  on  the  floor 
is  trying  to  catch  your  eye.  It  ain't  every  day 
they  get  a  chance  to  show  before  the  president 
of  the  Stellar  Films. " 

Al  Bergman  grinned  amiably  and  puffed  at 
his  fat  black  cigar.  He  himself  was  fat  and 
black.  He  was  conscious  of  the  attention 
paid  him  and  liked  it. 

"Well,  it  ain't  I'm  so  rotten  at  pickin'  'em, 
is  it?"  he  asked.  "I  picked  you,  an'  you're 
comin'  along  good." 


84  Star  of  the  North 

The  woman  twirled  her  highball  glass  be- 
tween her  fingers  until  the  ice  clinked  against 
the  sides. 

"Do  you  mean  that,  Al?" 

"Sure  I  mean  it.  I  saw  the  second  reel  of 
'Which  Path?'  in  the  projection  room  this 
morning,  and  you  done  great.  If  that  thing 
goes  like  I  think  it  will,  you'll  be  made. " 

"Ah!"  She  dropped  her  eyes  and  the  smile 
left  her  face.  In  its  place  came  a  look  of 
triumph  that  was  not  joy,  but  almost  bitter- 
ness. 

"That's  what  I  want,  Al,"  she  said.  "He 
always  was  jealous  of  me;  that's  why  he 
wanted  to  keep  me  in  a  glass  case  all  my  life. 
But  I'll  show  him  there's  somebody  in  the 
movies  besides  him/" 

Suddenly  a  uniformed  band  in  a  balcony 
at  the  other  end  of  the  hall  crashed  into  a 
throbbing,  thumping  strain,  and  couples  rose 
from  about  the  tables  and  commenced  to 
crowd  towards  the  dance  floor. 

It  was  a  golden  September  day,  but  the  heat 
was  that  of  midsummer.  The  whirring  elec- 


A  "  Cut-Back"  to  Manhattan       85 

trie  fans  merely  puddled  the  sickly,  close 
atmosphere  without  refreshing  it,  and  the 
people,  mostly  habitues  with  a  sprinkling  of 
sightseers,  looked  pale  and  wilted.  There  was 
an  air  of  forced  gaiety  and  false  enjoyment 
about  the  whole  thing. 

Gertrude  and  Bergman  did  not  dance;  the 
former  watched  her  companion,  and  the  latter 
was  content  to  sit  and  feast  with  sleepy,  half- 
shut  eyes  upon  the  feminine  procession  that 
swirled  by  him. 

After  the  encore,  when  the  dancers  were 
returning  to  their  places,  he  leaned  forward 
and  picked  up  the  thread  of  their  conversa- 
tion where  she  had  dropped  it. 

"I  guess  making  good  with  the  Stellar  is 
better  than  chasing  Mr.  X.  all  over'  Canada, 
ain't  it,  Gertie?"  he  asked. 

"You  spilled  a  chinful  then,  Al.  But  I've 
told  you  before  I  never  meant  to  go  up  there. 
That  letter  of  his  about  a  divorce  kind  of 
peeved  me,  so  I  shot  the  hottest  one  I  could 
think  of  back  at  him.  That's  all.  There's 
nothing  he  hates  worse  than  to  have  me  around 


86  Star  of  the  North 

where  he's  working,  so  I  wrote  him  I  was 
coming.  I  hope  it  gave  him  a  fit. " 

"Well,  keep  it  down  to  threats,  dearie." 
He  ogled  her  and  grinned. 

"Don't  you  worry.  I'd  never  go.  If  I  was 
to  show  up  there  he'd  probably  stop  my  al- 
lowance before  I  got  within  shooting  distance, 
and  that  would  make  a  fine,  enjoyable  outing, 
wouldn't  it?" 

Bergman  grunted  comfortably  and  shifted 
his  cigar  to  the  other  corner  of  his  mouth. 

"Well,  dearie,"  he  said,  modestly,  "you 
know  you  needn't  ever  let  a  little  thing  like 
that  worry  you.  But  say,  what's  Graphic 
doin'  up  there  in  the  backwoods  anyway?" 

"Shooting  a  big  North  country  feature,  far 
as  I  can  learn,"  she  told  him.  "Goin'  to 
wait  for  snow  and  pull  a  lot  of  realistic  stuff. 
Say!"  Her  face  lighted  with  a  sudden 
thought,  but  after  a  brief  moment  she  dis- 
missed it.  "That  ain't  such  a  bad  idea  of 
theirs  either!"  she  finished  indifferently. 

Real  interest  showed  for  a  moment  on 
Bergman's  placid  face. 


A  "Cut-Back"  to  Manhattan       87 

"It  ain't,  at  that,"  he  admitted.  Then  he 
leaned  over  and  patted  her  hand.  "But  we 
should  worry  when  we  got  a  star  comin'  along 
that'll  put  all  their  eyes  out,  eh,  Gert?" 

She  lowered  her  gaze  to  conceal  a  flicker 
of  satisfaction.  Then  she  flashed  him  a 
grateful  look. 

"Sometimes  I  think  you're  too  generous, 
Al." 

Suddenly  he  leaned  forward,  planting  his 
elbows  on  the  table  and  looking  at  her  squarely 
with  his  black,  bright  little  eyes. 

"So  do  I,  Gertie.  Look  here,  how  long  are 
you  going  to  keep  this  up?  Ain't  you  got  any 
heart?  Ain't  I  anything  to  you?" 

She  drew  back  cool,  smiling,  self-possessed. 

"I'm  not  a  star  with  my  own  company  yet, 
am  I?"  she  asked  sweetly. 

Bergman  groaned  and  sank  back  in  his 
chair. 

"I'm  makin'  you  a  star  as  quick  as  I  can, 
ain't  I?"  he  complained.  "My  God,  it 
seems  to  take  forever. " 

And  then,   because  he  was  scowling,   she 


88  Star  of  the  North 

leaned  forward  and  smiled  and  played  upon 
him  until  his  look  of  pleased  proprietorship 
returned.  In  the  midst  of  it  the  music  blared 
out  again,  and  the  jaded  couples  rose  mechan- 
ically from  their  tables  to  dance. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BETWEEN  TWO  FIRES 

JUNE  MAGREGOR  found  life  bewildering. 
The  multitudinous  impressions  and  sen- 
sations of  the  last  weeks  overwhelmed  her,  and 
sometimes  at  night  when  undressing  in  her 
raftered  bedroom,  she  asked  herself  wonder- 
ingly,  like  the  girl  in  the  nursery  rhymes 
"Can  this  be  I?" 

Sophistication  had  begun,  though  she  would 
not  have  called  it  that.  She  was  different; 
there  was  gone  a  certain  first  evanescent  glory 
of  innocence,  even  as  Temple  had  prophesied. 
But  there  was,  too,  an  awakening,  a  perception 
of  things  deeper  and  finer  than  she  had  ever 
dreamed. 

No  longer  at  the  mention  of  love  would  she 
have  asked  what  the  poet  meant.  She  had 
learned  of  it  by  observing  her  lovers.  Whether 

89 


90  Star  of  the  North 

she  herself  loved  she  could  not  have  said,  but 
she  knew  poignant  gladnesses  and  longings 
and  pain  interspersed  like  sun  and  rain  on  an 
April  day. 

Jack  Baillie  saw  to  that.  He  made  love 
tumultuously,  his  eyes  flashing  and  his  voice 
thrilling.  By  turns  he  was  stormy  and  serene, 
humble  and  exalted,  intense  or  cold  as  his 
moods  dictated.  He  even  dressed  the  part, 
his  Byronic  shirts  with  wide  soft  collars  setting 
off  splendidly  his  shapely  dark  head  with  its 
thick,  curly  hair. 

He  made  June  romantically  unhappy  and 
she  liked  it.  He  kept  her  in  a  continual  fer- 
ment of  uncertainty,  sweeping  her  to  the  stars 
one  night  by  a  flight  of  passion,  frightening  her 
the  next  with  a  threat  of  suicide.  Her  heart 
changed  its  beat  strangely  when  she  heard  his 
voice. 

And  he  swayed  her  in  still  another  way;  he 
awakened  her  sex  consciousness.  Like  the 
healthy,  vital  young  animal  she  was,  sleeping 
instincts  awoke  at  their  destined  call  and 
whispered  of  undreamed  things. 


Between  Two  Fires  91 

This  was  Baillie's  love,  a  love  of  hours  alone, 
of  "secrets, "  of  sentimentality,  and  tremu- 
lousness. 

Set  against  it  was  the  clean,  fresh  whole- 
someness  of  Temple's,  an  inspired  compan- 
ionship that  spoke  love  as  plainly  in  its  way  as 
did  Baillie's  passion.  Quietly,  unobtrusively, 
since  that  day  of  the  picture  at  the  fort,  he 
had  assumed  a  larger  and  larger  part  in  her 
life. 

They  talked  books,  read  together,  delved 
deep  into  the  mysteries  of  worlds  here  and 
hereafter;  the  How  of  the  stars,  which  we 
know  something  of,  and  the  Why  of  which  we 
know  nothing. 

And  with  him,  too,though  they  were  happy 
together  like  children,  June  felt  that  under- 
neath his  quietness  lay  a  fierce  intensity  held 
in  strong  leash.  It  seemed  to  run  like  a 
mighty  current  beneath  the  dancing  waves  of 
their  intercourse,  sweeping  her  with  it. 

And  yet  it  was  Baillie  who  oftenest  filled  her 
mind  and  imagination;  the  fire,  the  elan  of  his 
love  ignited  a  tinder  of  the  senses  that  burned 


92  Star  of  the  North 

very  bright.  But  Temple,  to  whom  passion 
was  the  crown  rather  than  the  body  of  love, 
shielded  the  flame  from  her  even  as  she 
shielded  her  own  awakening  from  both  her 
lovers. 

At  the  beginning  Paul  had  met  and  settled 
a  problem  seriously  involving  his  conscience. 
This  was  whether  he  could  with  honour  pay 
attention  to  June  without  telling  her  of  his 
marriage.  Every  natural  instinct  resented 
this,  and  yet  he  knew  that  by  no  other  course 
could  he  hope  to  win  in  what  he  had  set  out  to 
do.  To  tell  her  the  truth  would  be  to  remove 
himself  from  the  field  and  leave  Baillie  un- 
opposed. 

But  he  intended,  of  course,  when  the  time 
came,  if  come  it  did,  to  make  a  clean  breast 
of  the  whole  affair.  .  .  . 

One  still  cold  evening,  as  he  and  June  paced 
up  and  down  the  fort  clearing  in  the  twilight 
that  was  growing  shorter  and  shorter  as  the 
fall  advanced,  he  told  her  of  his  love.  The  air 
was  still  and  crystal  clear,  and  the  hard  blue 
light  of  the  sky,  still  tinged  with  a  lemon- 


Between  Two  Fires  93 

coloured  sunset,  brought  out  with  the  distinct- 
ness of  an  etching  the  straight  banded  trunks 
of  the  birches  at  the  edge  of  the  forest. 

His  words  were  deep  with  conviction  and 
passion. 

She  moved  beside  him,  anxious,  finding  her 
burden  heavy.  The  transition  from  the  pas- 
sionless, almost  sexless  girl  supremely  careless 
of  love  that  she  had  been,  to  the  woman 
plunged  into  the  crucible  of  life  by  two  men 
of  a  new  and  magic  world,  frightened  her. 

"Oh,  Paul,  what  can  I  say!"  she  cried, 
"except  that  I — I  don't  love  you!"  She 
looked  up  at  him  a  little  fearfully,  dreading  a 
mercurial  outburst  of  despair.  But  his  face 
only  went  white  with  pain,  and  he  looked 
unseeingly  off  above  the  enclosing  trees. 
Then  in  a  moment  his  jaw  set  and  he  turned 
to  her  eyes  as  steady  and  hard  as  flint. 

"June,  you're  going  to  love  me,"  he  told 
her  quietly.  "I'm  going  to  make  you." 

Again  she  felt  the  pull  of  that  strong  current 
that  underran  their  relations,  and  after  a 
moment  he  asked : 


94  Star  of  the  North 

"Is  there  anyone  else?" 

She  hesitated  long,  for  her  bewilderment 
and  perplexity  were  very  great,  and  she  was 
alone  and  inexperienced. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!"  she  said.  He  was 
strong,  masterful,  and  yet  there  was  the  echo 
of  another  delicious  music  that  he  did  not 
sound.  "I  don't  know!" 

He  felt  a  little  recompensing  satisfaction. 
At  least  he  had  accomplished  something.  He 
had  checked  before  she  realized  it,  the  con- 
flagration whose  first  flame  he  had  detected 
that  day  of  the  picture.  She  did  not  know! 
Then  he  and  Baillie  were  on  even  ground. 

"  I  don't  want  a  final  answer  now, "  he  said. 
"I'll  wait."  (How  different,  she  thought,  from 
Baillie's  passionate  claiming  of  her !)  "I  want 
you  to  know  as  I  know,  and  you  will.  And 
when  you  do,  time  or  distance,  or  anything 
that  may  happen,  can  never  make  any  differ- 
ence. But  you're  going  to  love  me,  June, 
sometime,  and  when  that  time  comes,  you'll 
find  love  wonderfully  different  from  anything 
you  have  ever  known." 


Between  Two  Fires  95 

She  looked  up  at  him  again.  The  pain  had 
gone  from  his  face  and  now  it  seemed  strong 
and  rugged,  glowing  with  an  intense  inner 
light.  She  had  studied  it  often,  trying  to  read 
what  life  had  written  there,  but  tonight  it 
revealed  much : — sensitiveness  and  feeling,  and 
perhaps  mystery  and  tragedy.  Tragedy  most 
of  all? 

They  talked  little  after  that  except  for 
cheerful  generalities.  Silences  fell,  silences 
characteristic  of  their  intimacy,  and  June  felt 
a  deep  and  abiding  peace.  Temple  always 
brought  her  that. 

Then  through  the  dusk  there  sounded  a 
clear  cadenced  whistle  and  the  girl  stopped, 
her  face  quickening. 

"Shall  we  go  back  now?"  she  asked,  and 
he  turned  without  a  word.  But  the  pain  had 
come  back.  Temple  knew  that  whistle. 
Baillie  had  come. 

By  the  loom  of  the  dwelling  with  its  yellow, 
lamp-lit  windows,  they  met  him.  He  seized 
the  girl's  hand  eagerly  and  then  nodded 
curtly  to  Paul.  The  three  sat  down  on  the 


96  Star  of  the  North 

edge  of  the  low  veranda  and  exchanged  per- 
functory commonplaces. 

Then  when  Paul  was  about  to  go,  the  door 
opened  and  Fleming  Magregor  came  out. 

"Is  Mr.  Temple  there?"  he  inquired,  peer- 
ing at  the  dim  figures. 

Paul  rose. 

"Wull  ye  have  a  pipe?"  the  factor  invited, 
after  responding  shortly  to  Baillie's  greeting, 
and  waved  towards  the  heavy  chairs  in  a 
corner  of  the  veranda. 

Paul  accepted  gratefully.  They  seated 
themselves,  the  factor  methodically  shaving 
his  hard  plug  of  tobacco  in  silence.  His 
contempt  for  Paul's  fine-cut  weed  was  monu- 
mental. 

"Wad  ye  like  to  go  huntin',  say  Thursday?  " 
he  began  abruptly  when  the  fire  was  bright 
in  the  briar  bowl.  "The  deer  should  be 
driftin'  back  towards  Skull  Lake  for  the  lily- 
pads  the  noo,  and  I  thought  ye  might  like  to 
try  it." 

Would  he  like  to  try  it?  Would  Bryan  like 
to  make  a  speech  or  Carnegie  be  interviewed? 


Between  Two  Fires  97 

Paul  could  have  stood  on  his  head  for  the 
solemn  grey  man.  But  he  had  no  proper 
gun,  he  mourned. 

"I've  plenty.  .  .  .  I'm  a  bit  of  a  sports- 
man, as  we  all  have  to  be  up  here. " 

They  talked  on,  planning  the  details.  In 
the  midst  of  it  Baillie  and  June,  who  had  been 
murmuring  together  at  the  edge  of  the  ver- 
anda, rose  and  strolled  away  in  the  darkness. 

A  mad  jealousy  burned  all  of  life  to  ashes 
for  Paul.  But  worse  than  that,  as  he  watched 
them  go,  was  the  Fear.  How  little  she  knew ! 
How  determined  Baillie  was! 

Paul  shivered,  though  not  with  the  cold. 
How  much  longer,  he  asked  himself,  must  he 
wait  for  the  opportunity  he  sought?  A  fierce 
impulse  to  rise  and  follow  them,  to  triumph 
with  the  strength  of  his  hands  over  that  sub- 
tle villainy,  surged  through  him.  But  he  fought 
it  down.  The  time  was  not  yet,  and  he  must 
bide  the  time.  A  false  move  and  he  would 
throw  June  irrevocably  into  Baillie' s  arms. 

He  apprehended  little  that  he  heard  of  deer 
hunting  that  night. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  TEST 

TT  was  a  wild  scene.  The  river  at  this  place, 
twenty  miles  below  Fort  McLeod,  had 
narrowed  to  a  swift,  foam-flecked  stream. 
The  bank  where  the  half-dozen  of  the  Graphic 
party  sat  was  low  and  rocky ;  the  green  forest 
was  in  the  background.  Two  canoes  loaded 
with  camping  paraphernalia  were  beached  up- 
stream, and  two  others  strained  and  knocked 
in  the  current  before  them. 

Over  everything  hung  a  mantle  of  noise,  a 
loud  monotonous  roar,  the  senseless  brawl  of 
fast  water.  Down-stream  the  river  banks 
closed  in  to  form  the  high  black  walls  of  a 
gorge  amid  which  the  tossing  waves  of  a  rapid 
showed  like  white  teeth.  And  in  a  patch  of 
sunlight  against  one  of  those  walls  swung  a 

thread,  and  at  the  end  of  it  a  man  with  a  tiny 

98 


A  Test  99 

machine — Gene  Perkins  getting  ready  for  the 
"shot." 

The  group  on  the  bank,  which  included 
Paul,  June,  Elsie  Tanner,  Baillie,  and  others, 
watched  a  colloquy  between  a  man  and  a 
woman  at  the  water's  edge.  The  latter, 
garbed  in  Indian  dress,  was  speaking  fast  and 
passionately  and  the  other,  with  battered  hat 
pushed  back  on  his  square  head  and  arms 
akimbo,  replied  sharply  at  intervals. 

Then  suddenly  the  girl  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands  and  sank  down  on  the  stones  weep- 
ing. Briscoe  looked  at  her  a  moment,  shrugged, 
and  turned  up  towards  the  waiting  group.  He 
came  slowly  and  dejectedly.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  looked  beaten. 

"French  has  funked  it  cold, "  he  announced. 
"She  says  I've  no  right  to  ask  her  to  go 
through  that  gorge  in  a  canoe. "  He  made  a 
motion  with  one  hand.  "Even  a  thousand- 
dollar  bonus  didn't  get  her.  Guess  we'll  have 
to  fake  it  at  some  nice  little  mill-race  in  New 
Jersey."  His  scorn  equalled  his  disappoint- 
ment. 


ioo  Star  of  the  North 

Silence  fell  on  the  little  group.  Paul, 
Elsie  Tanner,  and  Baillie  had  also  been  des- 
tined to  make  that  whirlwind  trip  between 
black  walls,  and  French's  vacillation  and 
delay  had  been  trying.  For  a  week  rain 
and  cloudy  weather  had  held  them  up,  and 
now  after  an  all-day  trip  to  this  location, 
the  leading  lady  had  finally  knifed  the 
"take." 

Baillie  moistened  his  lips  and  a  little  colour 
came  back  into  his  face.  Elsie  Tanner  who, 
in  her  cheerful,  unobtrusive  way  had  faced 
every  peril  known  to  man  without  a  qualm, 
smiled,  and  Paul  frowned.  He  looked  up  at 
Briscoe  and  spoke  soberly: 

"I'm  not  dying  to  go  through  there" —  he 
nodded  towards  the  rapids — "but  if  we  don't 
get  that  thrill,  the  film's  a  failure.  We  must 
get  it  somehow,  Tom. " 

"Perhaps  we  could  find  a  less  dangerous 
rapid  that  French  would  go  through,  "sug- 
gested Baillie. 

"There  ain't  one  within  a  hundred  miles," 
growled  Briscoe.  "And  what  do  I  care  for 


A  Test  101 

a  less  dangerous  rapid?  I  want  guts  in  this 
picture!" 

A  perplexed  and  hopeless  pause  fell.  Then 
suddenly  June  who  had  been  listening,  spoke: 

"Perhaps  I  could  go  through,  Mr.  Briscoe. 
I'd  like  to  try." 

Everyone  turned  to  her,  staring,  unbeliev- 
ing. Baillie  started  to  speak  but  checked 
himself. 

"You  would?"  A  look  combined  of  daz- 
zling joy,  admiration,  and  amazement,  lighted 
Briscoe 's  face. 

"Yes,  if  Miss  French  would  let  me  have  her 
costume.  I  think  it  would  fit  me."  She 
spoke  a  little  eagerly  now.  The  colour  of 
excitement  was  in  her  cheeks. 

Briscoe  bounced  to  his  feet  as  if  he  had  been 
made  of  rubber. 

"Great!"  he  cried.  "Miss  Magregor, 
you've  saved  us.  That  bonus  is  yours,  and 
anything  else  the  Graphic  Company's  got. 
By  thunder,  you're  my  star  of  the  North!" 

The  girl  flushed  with  pleasure.  She  was  in 
awe  of  this  live-wire  genius,  but  she  knew 


102  Star  of  the  North 

the  value  of  his  praise.  She  turned  from  him 
to  Baillie  who  was  mumbling  in  her  ear. 

"Don't  do  it,  June,"  he  was  pleading 
thickly,  "don't  take  that  risk.  If  anything 
happened  to  you " 

"  It  would  happen  to  you,  too,  Jack. "  Her 
eyes  rested  on  him  a  little  surprised. 

"But — are  you  sure  you  can  do  it?" 

"No,  I'm  not,  but  I  want  to  try.  It  will 
be  wonderful  sport!"  She  quivered  with  the 
nervous  courage  of  the  thoroughbred  at  the 
barrier.  He  said  no  more. 

It  was  characteristic  of  French  that  though 
she  refused  to  chance  the  white  water  herself, 
she  resented  June's  taking  her  place.  Her 
eyes  snapped  with  jealousy  as  June  donned  her 
Indian  costume.  She  had  heard,  as  Briscoe 
intended  her  to,  that  phrase  "star  of  the 
North." 

The  director  was  now  arranging  the  final 
mechanical  details,  casting  a  glance  now  and 
then  up  the  canyon  where  the  sun  was  grad- 
ually lighting  it  as  noon  approached.  At  its 
height  it  would  flood  the  gorge  for  half  an 


A  Test  103 

hour,  and  it  was  then  the  hazardous  trip  must 
be  made. 

Three  cameras  were  to  be  used,  one  at  the 
entrance  to  the  rapid,  a  second  suspended  in 
midair  half-way  through,  and  a  third  at  the 
lower  end  to  catch  the  final  leap  of  the  canoes 
into  still  water.  Two  assistants  were  helping 
with  the  artillery. 

The  "stunt "  itself  was  a  canoe  race  through 
the  rapid,  this  being  a  climactic  scene  in  the 
"Wilderness  Idyl,"  and  the  most  difficult 
of  the  troubles  Briscoe's  fiendish  ingenuity 
had  devised  for  the  long-suffering  Princess 
Na-shi-go. 

Temple  and  Elsie  Tanner,  as  man  and  wife, 
were  supposed  to  be  fleeing  from  the  mysteri- 
ous vengeance  that  had  pursued  them  ever 
since  they  had  married  and  come  into  the 
Northland,  and  hot  on  their  heels  followed  the 
Princess  and  the  trapper  (Baillie)  who  was  in 
love  with  her. 

At  the  water's  edge  the  men  were  examining 
the  canoes.  They  were  stout,  tried  craft, 
ballasted  evenly  with  what  for  the  sake  of  the 


104  Star  of  the  North 

picture  represented  duffle,  but  was  really  stone. 
They  would  ride  steadily  and  yet  present 
plenty  of  freeboard. 

"  Elsie, "  said  Paul,  as  his  companion  calmly 
took  her  place  in  front  of  him,  "I  like  to  work 
with  you.  You're  a  brick.  There  isn't  a 
speck  of  yellow  in  you. " 

The  quiet  young  woman  who  was  neither 
beautiful  nor  brilliant,  and  who  probably 
would  never  be  great,  coloured  swiftly  and 
laughed  with  a  sudden  catch  in  her  voice. 

"I'd  be  all  yellow  if  I  didn't  know  you  were 
behind  me, "  she  said,  and  almost  revealed  her 
long  secret  romance. 

For  a  moment  Paul  pondered  her  unusual 
emotion.  With  man-like  obtuseness  he  hoped 
after  all  she  wasn't  going  to  funk  it. 

June  had  finished  dressing  now  and  came 
down  to  the  water's  edge.  She  and  Baillie 
took  their  places.  Then  several  revolver 
shots  from  far  up  the  gorge  attracted  their 
attention,  and  they  turned  to  see  Perkins's 
tiny  white  handkerchief  waving. 

"He's  all  ready  up  there,"  said  Briscoe, 


A  Test  105 

"and  the  sun's  right."  The  canyon  stood 
revealed  in  the  yellow  glow,  a  forbidding  place 
at  best  with  its  black,  wet  walls.  "Now, 
children,"  he  added,  his  eye  on  Baillie,  "if 
any  of  you  don't  want  to  go  through  with  this, 
say  so  now.  Once  you  go  in  there's  no  stop- 
ping till  you  come  out .  If  you  turn  over  in  the 
middle,  good-bye.  I've  got  men  waiting  at 
the  other  end  to  take  care  of  you,  but  they'll 
be  no  good  in  the  rapid. " 

"Let's  get  it  over,"  growled  Temple,  and 
switched  his  canoe  around.  The  rest  re- 
mained silent. 

"All  right.  Go  ahead.  But  Baillie,  you 
let  Temple  get  through  before  you  start." 
The  preliminary  stages  of  the  race  leading  up 
to  the  plunge  into  the  white  water  would  be 
filmed  later  if  the  big  "stunt"  was  successful. 
The  two  craft  struggled  a  short  distance  up- 
stream and  turned.  Paul  glanced  anxiously 
at  Baillie.  Was  June  facing  two  dangers  in 
this  daring  trip? 

"Ready,  Elsie?"  They  were  kneeling, 
firm-set. 


106  Star  of  the  North 

"Yes." 

"Then,  go!" 

The  two  paddles  dug  the  water  and  the 
canoe  leaped  forward. 

Swiftly  they  passed  the  camera  that  was 
taking  the  "approach, "  and  as  swiftly  the  spot 
where  Briscoe  stood,  his  face  drawn  and  tense. 
Then  the  rocky  banks  commenced  to  rise  and 
close  in,  there  was  an  icy  breath  of  dank  air, 
and  the  clamour  of  the  many-tongued  water 
rose  louder  and  louder.  Then  before  them  a 
wave,  the  grandfather  of  all  waves,  rose  up 
and  shook  its  hoary  head  and  shouted.  The 
next  instant  it  had  mysteriously  disappeared 
beneath  them,  and  chaos  had  begun. 

The  bow  slewed  sidewise  as  a  wave  slapped 
it  and  the  crest  shot  into  the  boat.  Paul 
recovered  and  swung  her  back.  Already  he 
was  drenched  and  half-blinded  with  spray. 
Then,  the  first  shock  past,  the  exhilaration  of 
the  struggle  thrilled  him.  His  brain  cleared 
and  he  felt  himself  possessed  by  an  exultant, 
savage  joy  of  power — the  power  of  man  con- 
quering blind,  destructive  nature. 


A  Test  107 

Now  the  clamour  was  deafening  and  the 
water  one  mass  of  leaping  white  interspersed 
with  smooth  black  patches.  Then,  suddenly, 
something  suspended  in  the  air  rushed  towards 
the  canoe,  loomed  large,  seemed  about  to 
strike  it,  and  flashed  by.  It  was  Perkins 
filming  the  wild  flight. 

At  last  when  Paul  had  commenced  to  feel 
that  the  world  was  all  noise  and  motion  and 
drenching  icy  water,  there  was  a  final  toss  and 
leap,  and  they  shot  out  upon  a  wide,  green  pool 
that  was  strangely  still.  The  third  camera, 
stationed  on  a  jutting  rock,  caught  them  as 
they  did  so,  and  the  waiting  men  from  the 
camp  cheered. 

The  impetus  of  their  flight  sent  them  across 
to  the  rocky  edge  of  the  pool  and,  as  Paul 
steadied  the  canoe  with  his  hand,  he  looked 
back.  The  others  were  not  in  sight,  appar- 
ently had  not  yet  started. 

Elsie  Tanner  climbed  out  and  then  sat  down 
suddenly,  trembling  with  the  weakness  of 
reaction.  Paul,  when  he  landed,  also  found 
himself  affected,  and  to  recover  walked  slowly 


io8  Star  of  the  North 

around  the  pool  to  the  point  where  the  camera 
man  stood. 

' '  Here  they  come ! ' ' 

Far  up  the  wild  perspective,  now  glimpsed, 
now  smothered  from  sight,  tossing  like  a  chip, 
came  the  canoe.  Sherman  at  Temple's  side 
was  grinding  steadily. 

Paul's  heart  beat  fast.  What  of  Baillie? 
Would  he  come  through?  Would  he  crack? 

On  they  rushed,  swerving  and  leaping  in  a 
boil  of  foam.  They  swept  past  Perkins;  they 
shaved  a  jagged  tooth  of  rock,  and  were  in  the 
last  descent.  Then,  in  the  final  riffle,  at  the 
lip  of  the  pool,  the  canoe  slewed  dangerously. 
Temple  shouted  an  impotent  warning,  Baillie 
tried  to  recover,  failed,  and  the  next  instant 
they  had  struck  a  submerged  boulder.  There 
was  a  sharp  crack  as  the  canoe  broke  in  two, 
and  the  paddlers  were  flung  bodily  down  into 
the  pool,  the  debris  rushing  after  them.  Both 
disappeared. 

It  had  all  happened  so  swiftly,  just  on  the 
verge  of  success,  that  Temple  stood  for  a 
moment  stunned  and  paralysed.  Sherman, 


A  Test  109 

cursing  in  a  monotone,  methodically  turned 
his  camera  and  continued  to  grind. 

Then  as  Paul  jerked  himself  to  life,  Baillie 
appeared  above  the  surface.  He  gasped  for 
breath  and  flung  the  water  from  his  eyes. 
Then  recollection  seemed  to  come  to  him,  and 
he  looked  about  as  if  searching  for  June.  Not 
seeing  her,  he  hesitated,  and  then  with  a 
strange  moaning  cry  of  terror,  struck  out 
madly  for  shore. 

As  Temple  leaped  he  saw  June  reappear  and, 
as  he  swam  for  her,  he  suddenly  realized  the 
danger  of  that  still  pool.  All  the  force  of  the 
tumbling  water  expended  itself  in  swirling, 
powerful  currents  that  sucked  down  every- 
thing that  floated. 

Five  yards  from  the  struggling  girl  she 
disappeared  again,  and  gulping  a  mouthful 
of  fresh  air  Paul  dove  after  her.  Already  he 
ached  in  every  limb  from  the  icy  water,  and 
his  soaked  clothing  seemed  leaden. 

Then  opening  his  eyes  in  that  sinister  green 
light,  he  saw  her  dimly  and  clutched  her  as 
she  went  by.  Luckily  he  caught  her  by  the 


no  Star  of  the  North 

collar  of  her  deerskin  dress,  and  had  a  little 
advantage  in  the  desperate  fight  up  to  the 
blessed  air. 

The  struggle  became  a  nightmare  horror,  a 
confused  chaos  of  roaring  noises  and  of  vast 
weights  that  sought  to  crush  him.  Then  at 
last  he  felt  someone  clutch  him  from  above, 
and  heard  a  man's  voice  say  indistinctly: 

"Good  for  him,  he's  got  her.  Now  haul 
'em  aboard. " 

He  felt  the  warm  sun  on  his  face,  and  releas- 
ing his  bursting  lungs  drank  deep  of  the  sweet, 
life-giving  air. 

Five  minutes  later,  somewhat  recovered,  he 
helped  the  two  men  who  had  put  out  in  the 
canoe  to  lift  June  ashore.  She  had  been  un- 
conscious when  rescued,  but  already  was  com- 
mencing to  gasp  and  moan  as  her  senses 
returned. 

They  laid  her  on  the  rocks,  and  while  Paul 
tried  to  revive  her  the  others  ran  for  blankets. 
At  Paul's  command  those  who  had  crowded 
around  stood  back  to  give  the  girl  air. 

Then,  gradually,  June's  breath  came  more 


A  Test  in 

easily,  her  eyelids  fluttered  and  at  last  opened. 
For  a  moment  she  stared  up  blankly  into  the 
face  of  the  man  above  her. 

"Thank  God!"  said  Paul,  with  fervent 
tenderness. 

The  voice  seemed  to  rouse  her,  and  with 
clearer  and  clearer  vision  she  stared  up  at  him, 
taking  in  one  by  one  his  wet  face,  matted  hair, 
and  dripping  clothes. 

"Jack  .  .  .  "  she  said  faintly,  and  stopped 
all  at  once.  Then  in  a  voice  of  wonder: 
"  You — Paul — !  I  saw  you  on  the  bank. 
I — "  There  was  a  longer  pause  as  the  truth 
filtered  into  her  stunned  brain.  "Then  it 
was  you  who  saved  me.  ...  Where  is 
he?" 

"Safe.  And  now  you  mustn't  talk  any 
more.  Just  rest. " 


CHAPTER  X 

BAILLIE   PLAYS  HIS   TRUMPS 

\  \  7HEN  Paul  awoke  that  dawn  under  the 
vigorous  shaking  of  the  cook,  it  was 
to  a  feeling  of  delicious  anticipation.  Pushing 
back  the  tent-flap,  he  saw  the  grey  light  and 
felt  the  chill  wind  that  precedes  sunup  of  an 
early  autumn  day.  The  pines  about  the  camp 
clearing  were  wreathed  in  a  bluish  mist,  and 
the  river  was  obscured,  but  already  the  cur- 
tains of  haze  were  stirring. 

He  dressed  for  once  without  his  plunge  in 
the  rock-lined  pool  the  men  had  constructed, 
for  this  was  the  day  of  the  deer  hunt  and  he 
must  be  at  the  fort  at  half -past  five.  After 
the  strenuous  time  in  the  rapid  (of  which 
Fleming  Magregor  was  still  ignorant)  Briscoe 
had  given  the  principals  a  few  days'  rest  and 


112 


Baillie  Plays  His  Trumps        113 

was  filling  in  the  time  with  some  short  stuff 
he  had  on  hand. 

At  the  cook  tent  Paul  shocked  himself  into 
consciousness  with  two  cups  of  scalding  coffee, 
and  alight  collation  consisting  of  ham  and  eggs, 
bread  and  butter,  and  pie.  Then  he  went 
down  to  the  pier.  On  the  way  he  passed 
through  the  sleeping  camp.  The  log  shacks, 
ten  altogether,  were  completed  now,  and 
occupied  by  some  of  the  female  contingent. 
The  weather  had  sharpened  warningly  as  fall 
advanced,  and  the  nights  were  very  cold. 
Only  the  hardier  women  braved  them  under 
canvas,  though  all  of  the  men  were  still  in  the 
open. 

At  Baillie's  tent  he  heard  sounds  which 
indicated  the  other's  complete  oblivion  to  the 
world.  But  had  he  looked  behind  him  as  he 
went  down  the  hill  to  the  river  he  would  have 
noticed  a  strange  thing.  The  snoring  sud- 
denly ceased,  the  tent-flap  was  pushed  back 
furtively,  and  Baillie's  bright  eyes  watched 
his  departure. 

But  a  suspicion  of  such  significant  things 


ii4  Star  of  the  North 

never  crossed  Paul's  mind.  He  was  too  happy 
in  the  anticipation  of  the  day  to  come.  Step- 
ping into  his  canoe,  he  pushed  off  into  the 
swift  current  and  swept  away  between  the 
blue  misty  banks,  an  adventurer  in  the  wilder- 
ness. His  blood  tingled  with  the  elixir  of  the 
air,  and  putting  aside  all  that  life  had  been  to 
him,  and  all  that  it  still  might  bring,  he  felt 
the  primitive,  animal  joy  of  mere  being  surge 
through  him.  Today  was  his  and  he  should 
take  it  and  be  happy. 

In  token  whereof  he  startled  the  birds  in 
the  trees  by  bursting  into  a  melodious  bellow 
of  song. 

"In  smiling  Bacchus'  joys  I'll  roll, 
Deny  no  pleasure  to  my  soul, 
Let  Bacchus'  health  round  briskly  move, 
For  Bacchus  is  the  friend  to  love. 
And  he  who  will  this  health  deny, 
Down  among  the  dead  men  let  him  lie!" 

As  he  neared  the  fort  he  was  suddenly  sur- 
prised to  see  June  awaiting  him  on  the  beach. 
She  listened  to  his  musical  efforts  judicially. 

"There  won't  be  much  use  going  hunting  if 


Baillie  Plays  His  Trumps        115 

you  keep  that  up, "  she  told  him  as  he  landed. 
"Everything  old  enough  to  walk  will  be  in 
Alberta." 

He  waved  her  aspersion  lightly  aside. 

"You  should  hear  me  sing  while  I  accom- 
pany myself  on  the  mouth-organ.  You're 
not  going  with  us!" 

"Oh,  no," — she  spoke  a  little  hastily,  he 
thought — "I'm  just  up  to  see  you  off." 

"I  feel  properly  honoured." 

She  laughed  a  little  constrainedly  and  turned 
up  the  bluff. 

Paul  found  the  factor  waiting  tor  him  in 
front  of  the  fort,  granulating  plug  tobacco 
with  a  clasp  knife,  and  cocking  an  eye  at  the 
weather.  He  welcomed  his  guest  dryly  and 
handed  him  his  rifle.  In  Magregor's  handling 
of  the  weapon,  and  his  abstracted  manner  and 
speech  Paul  recognized  the  characteristics  of 
the  devotee,  the  zealot  of  the  chase,  a  direct 
descendant  of  Nimrod  the  mighty  hunter. 

"We'll  strike  eastward  in  the  direction  of 
Skull  Lake,"  said  the  factor,  presently,  and 
swinging  up  the  light  pack  he  started  at  once. 


ii6  Star  of  the  North 

From  the  edge  of  the  clearing  Paul  waved 
June  good-bye.  She  replied,  but  his  half- 
presentiment  of  other  things  afoot,  of  which 
he  knew  nothing,  increased. 

Once  the  hunters  had  gone,  June  turned 
quickly  back  to  the  fort  and  went  inside. 
An  hour  later  she  reappeared  laden  with  a 
variety  of  utensils  and  packages,  and  went 
down  to  the  beach  at  the  river.  By  this  time 
the  brisk  northwest  wind  had  licked  up  the 
mists  and  the  sun  shone  brightly. 

Shortly  after  seven  a  red  spot  appeared  on 
the  river  up-stream  and  grew  rapidly  larger. 
It  developed  into  a  canoe  paddled  by  a  man, 
and  presently  Jack  Baillie  grounded  the  craft 
at  her  feet,  and  leaped  out  on  the  sand. 

He  impulsively  seized  both  her  hands  in 
his. 

"Have  they  gone?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  an  hour  ago." 

"Great!  And  now  for  our  wonderful  day 
together!"  He  laughed  gaily,  throwing  back 
his  head,  his  eyes  sparkling. 

She  wished  to  release  her  hands  which  he 


Baillie  Plays  His  Trumps        117 

still  held,  and  employed  some  of  her  newly 
acquired  aplomb. 

"Jack,  do  help  with  the  duffle.  I  was  going 
to  wait  for  you  to  carry  it  down  the  bluff, 
but " 

"Well,  you  poor  little  snow-bird!" — he 
sprang  towards  the  offending  provisions — 
"You  shan't  do  another  thing  today.  You 
shall  sit  on  a  cushion  and  sew  a  fine  seam " 

"And  help  Mr.  Baillie  to  paddle  the 
stream,"  she  finished  for  him  archly,  and  he 
gave  a  whoop  of  appreciation. 

At  the  canoe  she  noticed  that  there  was 
already  considerable  stuff  aboard. 

"Did  you  bring  things,  too?"  she  asked, 
puzzled.  "We  can't  begin  to  use  all  this  in 
one  day.  Don't  you  remember  I  said  you 
needn't  bring  anything?" 

He  laughed  easily,  and  swept  his  mane  of 
dark  hair  back  with  one  hand. 

"Yes,  June,  dear,  but  you  know  how  it  is. 
I  thought  perhaps  there  mightn't  be  enough, 
and  then — perhaps  I've  got  a  surprise — you 
don't  know!" 


ii8  Star  of  the  North 

"Oh,  um!    A  surprise?     What  is  it?" 

They  talked  surprises  until  the  canoe  was 
ready.  Then,  taking  their  places  in  bow  and 
stern,  they  pushed  off  down-stream. 

And  all  at  once  the  similarity  of  their 
positions  to  those  of  the  disastrous  day  at 
the  rapid,  struck  them  both,  and  the  sudden 
chill  of  unexplained  things  crept  between 
them. 

Baillie  felt  it  at  once,  and  talked  on  with 
almost  desperate  gaiety.  In  their  single 
meeting  since  the  catastrophe  he  had  con- 
tinually sensed  June's  unanswered  question; 
realized  that  he  had  lost  ground  with  her. 
His  excuse  for  his  failure  (loudly  proclaimed 
from  the  moment  the  Graphics  had  started 
back  to  camp  after  the  accident)  was  that 
the  wrecked  canoe  had  struck  him  on  the  head 
and  dazed  him  in  the  final  plunge. 

But  this  received  little  credit  at  camp. 
For  one  thing  he  never  offered  to  show  the 
mark  of  the  injury.  He  faced  a  courteous  and 
careful,  but  none  the  less  absolute,  doubt. 

He  and  June  had  spoken  of  the  affair  but 


Baillie  Plays  His  Trumps        119 

once,  and  then  Baillie  had  pleaded  his  case 
with  a  sincerity  born  of  strenuous  self -convic- 
tion. He  had  convinced  himself  that  he  was 
helpless  at  the  time,  and  he  did  his  best  to 
convince  her.  But  he  had  felt  when  he  fin- 
ished, just  as  he  felt  now,  that  her  attitude 
towards  him  had  lost  some  of  its  responsive- 
ness. It  was  detached,  withdrawn,  as  if  she 
were  sitting  in  judgment. 

Appreciating  this,  Baillie's  eyes  flashed 
with  sudden  anger  and  his  cruel  mouth  set  into 
a  line  of  determination.  Today  he  would 
counteract  this  failure ;  he  would  sweep  her  off 
her  feet.  He  had  planned  this  expedition  the 
night  he  had  heard  Fleming  Magregor  invite 
Temple  to  go  deer-hunting,  and  he  was  going 
to  make  the  most  of  it. 

They  left  the  fort  behind  them  and  rounded 
a  magnificent  curve  of  the  steel-blue  river. 
The  breeze  was  cool,  but  the  warmth  of  the 
sun  tempered  it  and  made  the  sparkling  air 
like  wine.  June  loved  the  touch  of  the  wind 
in  her  face,  and  presently  took  off  her  jaunty 
little  knockabout  hat  with  its  red  grosbeak's 


120  Star  of  the  North 

feather,  and  thrust  it  into  the  narrow  bow  of 
the  canoe  before  her. 

And  as  the  green  and  yellow  banks  glided 
by,  she  tried  occasionally  to  reply  in  kind  to 
Baillie's  banter.  But  without  spontaneity. 
Her  thoughts  and  feelings  upon  this  crisis  in 
their  relationship  were  too  earnest ;  her  remem- 
brance of  the  occurrence  too  vivid. 

Her  point  of  view  was  characteristic.  It 
was  incomprehensible  to  her  that  he  could 
have  funked  that  rescue,  for  with  his  impetu- 
ous, passionate  love-making,  he  had  come  to 
embody  her  girlish  dream  of  a  romantic  lover. 
According  to  the  world-old  formula  her 
knight's  virtues  must  be  noble;  his  vices 
splendidly  melancholy  and  mysterious.  He 
may  even  have  been  wicked  (how  eagerly  she 
would  forgive  the  penitent!) — dashing,  de- 
bonair, reckless,  temperamental,  tender!  All 
these.  But  a  coward!  Never! 

And  most  damming  of  all  was  the  fact  that 
Jack  had  excused  himself.  In  her  ideal  of  him 
there  was  no  place  for  excuse.  He  accom- 
plished, or,  if  he  failed,  his  own  death  was  his 


Baillie  Plays  His  Trumps         121 

one  and  unanswerable  defence.  .  .  .  Dur- 
ing these  days  she  had  pondered  long  and 
deeply,  and  try  as  she  might  to  excuse  him 
to  herself,  somehow  she  could  not. 

They  paddled  easily  down-stream,  sweeping 
along  almost  without  effort.  Occasionally  a 
banded  and  crested  kingfisher  would  drop 
like  a  plummet  into  the  shallows,  or  a  fish- 
hawk  flap  heavily  along  before  them.  Crows 
scolded  invisibly  in  the  forest,  and  once  there 
was  a  great  crashing  of  underbrush  that  June 
said  was  the  frightened  progress  of  deer  or 
moose. 

Five  miles  below  the  fort  they  came  at  last 
to  two  islands,  One  was  of  good  size,  some 
quarter  of  a  mile  long:  the  other,  lower  down, 
was  smaller,  circular  in  shape,  and  thickly 
wooded.  With  its  outcroppings  of  grey  rock 
it  looked  like  an  impregnable  fortress. 

June  turned  the  prow  of  the  canoe  toward 
the  larger,  but  Baillie  veered  it  away. 

"  I  thought  we  were  going  to  Mink  Island, " 
the  girl  said,  turning  in  surprise. 

He  laughed. 


122  :  Star  of  the  North 

"Oh,  I  like  the  little  one  so  much  better. 
You  told  me  the  other  day  it  hadn't  any 
name"  (they  had  passed  these  islands  on  their 
way  to  the  "take"  at  the  canyon),  "so  I 
thought  we'd  go  there  and  seize  it  for  ourselves 
and  name  it." 

"Oh,  that  will  be  fun!"  She  fell  into  his 
mood.  "What  shall  we  call  it?" 

"  Our  Island.     Do  you  like  that?  " 

"Oh,  yes!  How  do  you  think  of  such 
nice  things?" 

They  approached  the  tufted  rock  cautiously 
for  it  showed  no  beach.  The  white  birches, 
their  feet  embedded  in  moss,  grew  to  the  very 
water's  edge,  and  it  was  by  catching  hold  of 
one  of  these  that  they  finally  landed. 

Then  they  worked  together  unloading  the 
canoe,  laughing  with  the  zest  of  adventure. 

"We're  explorers,"  she  said,  "and  we've 
come  down  this  river  for  the  first  time.  No 
one  but  the  Indians  have  ever  been  here  before. 
Oh,  I  wish  it  were  true.  I've  always  so  wanted 
to  be  an  explorer. " 

"So  do  I  wish  it  were  true,"  he  replied, 


Baillie  Plays  His  Trumps         123 

with  a  different  intonation,  "just  we  alone, 
and  no  one  else — forever!" 

When  the  duffle  was  unloaded  Baillie  tied 
the  painter  of  the  canoe  to  a  tree  trunk*  and 
they  "portaged  their  supplies  inland,"  as 
June's  fancy  described  it.  "Inland "  on  their 
six-acre  domain  proved  to  be  a  little  natural 
clearing  which  both  greeted  with  shouts  of 
delight.  Immediately  they  made  camp. 

Then  as  the  hours  flew  they  fished  from  the 
rocks  in  sublime  disregard  of  risk,  the  tackle 
for  this  being  Baillie's  surprise.  And  after 
that  came  the  divine  hour  of  razor-keen 
appetite,  the  incense  of  cooking  things,  and 
the  merry  meal .... 

When  they  had  finished  eating  a  more  sub- 
dued mood  came  upon  them.  June  sat 
leaning  against  a  tree,  and  Baillie  reclined 
beside  her  resting  on  one  elbow. 

"  If  it  were  only  true, "  he  said,  softly,  "that 
we  were  here  together,  just  you  and  I,  to 
stay  away  from  the  world  as  long  as  we  wanted. 
What  a  place  for  a  honeymoon!" 

She  could  not  meet  his  ardent  gaze,  and  her 


124  Star  of  the  North 

eyes  dropped.  His  hand  went  out  and  took 
hers,  and  this  time  she  did  not  draw  it  away. 
And  while  he  held  it  he  talked  on,  telling  her 
of  his  love,  and  all  the  while  watching  her 
closely  for  signs  of  returning  subjection  to 
him. 

And  she — because  that  day  together  had 
been  so  perfect,  their  companionship  fraught 
with  such  delightful  untrammelled  joy — she 
felt  again  his  strongest  appeal,  an  appeal  that 
at  once  lulled  her  feelings  and  stimulated  her 
emotions.  So  perfectly  did  he  fulfil  in  every 
regard  what  her  imagination  demanded  of 
him,  that  she  forgot  the  one  stigma  he  still 
bore. 

Wearied  like  children  who  have  played 
long,  they  sat  there  while  the  hours  of  the  sun- 
lit afternoon  drifted  away.  And  stronger  and 
stronger  in  the  man  grew  the  conviction  that 
he  had  triumphed  at  last.  She  seemed  wholly 
beneath  his  spell.  And  this  was  what  he  had 
waited  for. 

At  last  with  a  little  shock,  she  noted  the 


Baillie  Plays  His  Trumps         125 

lengthening  shadows  and  obliqueness  of  the 
sun's  rays  as  they  slanted  through  the  pine 
branches,  and  roused  herself .... 

" Goodness,  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late!" 
she  said,  astonished.  "I  suppose  we  must 
start  back  now.  It's  a  long  paddle  up- 
stream." 

The  man  glanced  at  her  swiftly  and  a  look 
of  cunning  resolution  hardened  his  face. 
Then  with  a  sudden  laugh  he  sprang  to  his 
feet. 

"Then  you  must  sit  here,"  he  commanded, 
"and  let  me  carry  the  things  down  to  the 
canoe.  The  paddle  up  will  be  enough,  without 
your  doing  any  of  this. " 

Ordinarily  she  would  have  laughed  him  to 
scorn,  but  now  she  relaxed,  finding  a  sweet 
thrill  in  obedience. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  lazily,  "we  had  too 
much.  You  shouldn't  have  brought  any- 
thing." 

"You're  right, "  he  admitted.  He  gathered 
an  armful  of  supplies  and  started  briskly 
towards  the  landing  place  leaving  her  sitting 


126  Star  of  the  North 

against  the  tree.  Half-way  to  the  river  he 
glanced  swiftly  around  and  suddenly  dropped 
his  burden  in  a  nearby  thicket.  "We'll  need 
you  yet, "  he  muttered  as  he  hurried  on. 

He  found  the  red  canoe  tied  to  the  tree  as 
he  had  left  it,  and  with  another  furtive  look 
behind  him,  commenced  to  work  swiftly  at 
the  knot.  But  the  rope  had  been  dragging  in 
the  water  that  morning  and  now  the  constant 
tugging  of  the  current  had  drawn  it  hard  and 
tight. 

Desperately  he  worked,  cursing  under  his 
breath,  but  before  he  could  loosen  it  he  heard 
a  stirring  in  the  brush  in  the  direction  of  the 
camp,  and  the  next  moment,  June's  clear, 
happy  voice: 

"I've  disobeyed  you,  Jack!  I  just  couldn't 
sit  there  and  do  nothing,  so  I'm  bringing  things 
too." 

With  an  oath  he  stopped,  and  for  the 
fraction  of  a  second  stood  stock  still.  This 
was  the  critical  instant.  She  was  not  yet  in 
sight,  so,  with  a  swift  movement  he  whipped 
out  his  knife,  cut  the  straining  painter,  and 


Baillie  Plays  His  Trumps         127 

giving  the  canoe  a  strong  shove,  saw  it  veer 
into  the  current.  The  trees,  he  knew,  would 
screen  its  passage  from  her. 

Then  he  cut  the  painter  that  still  remained 
about  the  tree  and  threw  it  into  a  thicket. 
The  next  instant  he  had  sprung  back  along 
the  trail  to  intercept  her.  And  as  he  did  so 
he  thought  with  grim  satisfaction  of  the  deep, 
flowing  water  that  hemmed  the  island  in. 

Night  would  come  soon  and  there  was  no 
way  of  escape. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   RECKONING 

"\  71 J HEN  after  several  hours'  hunting  Paul 
Temple  and  Fleming  Magregor  had 
failed  to  find  as  much  as  a  week-old  deer-track 
in  the  wilderness,  the  factor  could  not  conceal 
his  disappointment. 

"'Tis  na  hospeetable,  this,"  he  complained 
as  the  two  rested  by  the  sedge-bordered  shore 
of  Skull  Lake.  "At  the  least  ye  might  have 
a  shot." 

But  the  "beasties"  were  apparently  "fey" 
that  day,  and  when  noon  arrived  the  hunters 
had  found  no  game.  After  boiling  tea  and 
eating,  the  Scot  suggested  a  change  of  plan  in 
their  campaign.  He  led  the  way  across  coun- 
try half  a  mile  to  a  plainly  marked  trail. 

"This  will  take  ye  to  a  ford  at  the  river," 
he  said.  "You  follow  it  slowly  and  I'll  circle 

128 


The  Reckoning  129 

north  and  try  to  drive  something  across  the 
trail.  If  ye  get  nothing,  come  out  at  the  ford 
at  half -past  four  and  I'll  join  ye  there.  Then 
we  can  go  home  up  the  river  trail  together. 
But" —  and  his  steel-grey  eyes  twinkled — "if 
I  strike  a  fresh  track — "  He  paused.  "I'm 
only  human,  ye  ken. " 

Paul  laughed  out. 

"I  understand  perfectly,"  he  said.  "If 
you  find  anything,  go  to  it." 

The  other  looked  his  gratitude. 

"That  I  will.  If  I  don't  come  at  half -past 
four  then,  you  start  on  up.  I'll  follow  in 
when  I  can." 

With  this  understanding  they  separated, 
and  Paul  took  his  leisurely  way  to  the  river. 
He  arrived  there  shortly  before  the  designated 
time,  having  neither  seen  any  sign  of  game 
nor  heard  a  distant  shot.  Ho  waited  until 
five  o'clock  and  then  concluding  that  the 
factor  had  found  his  fresh  track  started 
homeward. 

By  this  time  there  was  only  an  hour  of 
daylight  left.  The  sun  hung  cool  and  yellow 


130  Star  of  the  North 

above  the  trees  on  the  opposite  bank,  and  with 
its  descent  the  evening  chill  grew  noticeable. 
Temple  walked  briskly. 

After  travelling  a  mile,  the  trail  left  the 
water  and  cut  across  a  neck  of  land  made  by  a 
loop  in  the  river's  course.  Paul  had  traversed 
this  and  had  come  out  on  the  bank  again  when, 
through  the  brush  at  the  water's  edge,  he 
caught  a  flash  of  some  red  object.  Parting 
the  bushes  he  saw  a  canoe  stranded  against 
the  sand  bank  which  the  piled-up  silt  of  the 
river  had  formed  here  at  the  bend. 

Surprised,  he  went  towards  it,  and  his 
astonishment  increased  when  he  recognized 
by  the  lettering  on  the  bow  that  it  was  the 
familiar  red  canoe  from  the  Graphic  camp. 
He  looked  about  him,  wondering  if  anyone 
could  have  landed  here,  but  rejected  this 
thought  when  a  search  up  and  down  the  little 
beach  revealed  no  tracks  but  his  own.  More- 
over, there  was  no  evidence  that  an  attempt 
had  been  made  to  beach  the  craft.  It  lay 
grounded  broadside  on,  bumping  gently  with 
the  ripples. 


The  Reckoning  131 

Returning  to  the  canoe  he  found  the  paddles 
laid  along  the  bottom  in  the  usual  position 
of  disuse,  and  thought  for  a  moment  that 
the  craft  might  have  drifted  down  from  the 
Graphic  camp.  Then  a  flash  of  colour  in  the 
bow  caught  his  eye,  and  he  saw  the  felt  hat 
with  its  feather  which  June  had  discarded. 
Recognizing  this,  he  divined  at  once  who  had 
been  using  the  boat.  None  of  the  Graphics 
except  himself  and  Baillie  had  ever  taken 
June  on  the  river. 

This  much  established,  a  sudden  fear  took 
possession  of  him.  Could  some  accident  have 
happened?  But  again  reason  told  him  no. 
The  fact  of  the  orderliness  of  the  paddles,  and 
that  there  was  no  water  in  the  boat  or  any 
other  sign  of  mishap,  made  the  eventuality 
improbable. 

How  then  had  it  come  here?  Through 
carelessness  when  the  others  left  it?  This 
was  hardly  credible  either,  since  Baillie  knew 
enough  to  drag  a  canoe  well  out  of  the  reach 
of  the  current  when  landing,  and  June  would 
have  seen  to  this  detail  instinctively. 


132  Star  of  the  North 

For  many  minutes  Temple  stood  ponder- 
ing. The  very  elusiveness  of  an  explanation 
made  a  mystery.  Then  there  flashed  into  his 
mind  the  recollection  of  his  feelings  that  morn- 
ing when  starting  on  the  hunt.  He  divined 
now  that  it  was  not  only  to  speed  her  father 
and  himself  that  June  had  been  up  so  early. 
The  touch  of  constraint  in  her  attitude  had 
indicated  this. 

He  surmised  that  it  was  Baillie  she  had  been 
waiting  for  and  that  they  had  planned  some 
expedition  together  on  what  was  also  his 
holiday.  Paul's  lips  closed  tight  at  the 
thought.  Even  after  the  revelation  at  the 
gorge  and  the  deep  gratitude  she  had  expressed 
to  him,  was  Baillie  still  so  highly  in  her  favour? 
Couldn't  she  see,  didn't  she  know  yet,  the 
sort  of  creature  he  was? 

He  shook  off  his  half -angry  thoughts  and 
faced  the  problem  before  him.  How  had  the 
canoe  come  here,  and  what  should  he  do  with 
it?  He  settled  the  latter  question  by  prepar- 
ing to  paddle  the  craft  back,  at  least  to  the  fort. 
As  he  was  about  to  get  in,  he  noticed  the 


The  Reckoning  133 

painter  dragging  in  the  water  and  walked 
forward  to  take  it  up. 

The  rope  ran  through  his  hand  quickly  and 
its  shortness  attracted  his  attention.  Exam- 
ining it,  he  saw  at  once  that  it  had  been  cut, 
and  the  strangeness  of  the  fact  made  him  pause. 
The  means  of  the  canoe's  having  come  here 
was  plain  now,  but  the  reason  behind  it  needed 
explanation.  Why  had  it  been  deliberately 
cut  loose?  Where?  When? 

The  uneasiness  that  had  been  gathering  in 
him  became  distrust  and  then  suspicion. 
With  both  the  factor  and  himself  absent,  had 
Baillie  sought  to  accomplish  some  end? 

Without  an  instant's  further  delay  Temple 
knelt  in  the  middle  of  the  canoe  and  pushed 
off.  He  knew  that  by  keeping  in  the  shallows 
along  shore  he  could  make  fair  progress,  and 
at  the  same  time  look  and  listen  for  some  sign 
of  those  he  sought.  But  the  magnitude  of  the 
task  appalled  him. 

The  vast  wilderness  stretching  away  on 
every  side  seemed  to  have  leagued  its  fast- 
nesses against  him.  He  had  only  one  clue — 


134  Star  of  the  North 

that  June  and  Baillie  had  started  on  the  river. 
His  chance  was  that  they  were  still  somewhere 
near  it. 

As  he  worked  his  way  up-stream  the  sun 
sank  behind  the  western  bluffs  and  the  swift 
northern  twilight  closed  down.  A  chill  breath 
rose  from  the  water,  and  the  forest  at  his  left 
roared  deeply  as  the  gusts  of  rising  wind  rushed 
through  it.  Temple  glanced  at  the  sky.  It 
was  clear.  He  would  have  the  benefit  of 
starlight,  and  later,  he  knew,  a  moon. 

But  though  he  searched  the  river  bank 
closely  for  some  signs  of  a  camp  or  landing 
place,  and  listened  for  sounds  of  human  prox- 
imity, he  saw  and  heard  nothing.  That  Baillie 
and  June  might  have  landed  on  the  opposite 
shore  he  did  not  consider  probable,  as  the 
navigable  channel  below  Mink  Island  ran  to 
the  east  side,  and  the  western  arm  was  com- 
posed of  shallow,  stony  rapids.  Had  the 
canoe  drifted  down  through  these  it  must  have 
overturned. 

It  was  long  after  six  and  quite  dark  when 
Paul  became  aware  of  the  black  bulk  of  the 


The  Reckoning  135 

round,  wooded  island  which  lay  down-stream 
from  Mink.  The  loom  of  it  was  ahead  and  to 
the  right,  and  he  bent  to  his  work.  He  had 
been  making  good  progress,  but  now  he  knew 
the  faster  current  in  the  seventy-five  yard 
channel  would  retard  him. 

Gradually  the  island  came  towards  him,  he 
gained  it ;  he  drew  abreast.  The  brawl  of  the 
rapids  on  the  opposite  side  was  so  loud  in  the 
night  air  that  he  gave  up  any  attempt  to  hear 
a  human  voice. 

Then,  just  as  he  was  about  to  leave 
the  island  behind,  the  tail  of  his  eye  caught 
a  red  glow  of  light  from  it.  The  next  in- 
stant this  had  disappeared  as  he  surged 
ahead. 

He  stopped  paddling  and  drifted  back. 
There  it  was  again,  the  uneven  flicker  of  a  fire. 
Temple's  jaws  set.  If  the  two  he  sought  were 
there,  Baillie's  plan  was  obvious.  He  would 
try  to  use  the  fact  of  having  stayed  a  night  in 
the  open  together  as  a  bludgeon  to  force  June 
into  marriage  with  him.  Feeling  that  he  had 
lost  ground  after  the  episode  at  the  rapid,  he 


136  Star  of  the  North 

had  taken  this  means  to  defeat  Temple, 
unless 

Paul  went  suddenly  hot  and  cold  by  turns. 
If  he  knew  his  man,  Baillie  didn't  want  that. 
Men  in  honest  search  of  a  priest  don't  cut 
canoe  painters  on  islands  from  which  there  is 
no  escape.  Not  for  a  moment  in  the  past 
had  Temple  been  able  to  credit  Baillie  with 
honourable  intentions,  and  he  saw  no  reason 
to  do  so  now. 

With  a  dig  of  his  paddle  he  swung  the  canoe 
around  and  obliquely  across  the  current. 

Then  as  he  drew  near  the  island,  above  the 
noise  of  the  water  he  heard  human  voices, 
mingled  but  indistinguishable.  Still  closer  in, 
they  came  again,  and  his  heart  leaped  as  he 
recognized  that  one  was  a  woman's.  The 
next  moment  he  forced  his  craft  into  the  over- 
hanging growth  along  the  rocks,  and  panting 
from  his  exertions,  listened. 

Again  the  woman's  voice  rang  out — this 
time  clear  and  unmistakable,  high-pitched 
with  a  note  of  terror  that  made  him  half  rise 
from  his  knees. 


The  Reckoning  137 

"Jack!  Please!  You're  spoiling  every- 
thing! Oh,  let  me  go!  You  frighten  me! 
You  never  acted  like  this  before." 

It  was  June;  frigtened,  bewildered,  de- 
fenceless! With  an  incoherent  sound  Temple 
leaped  ashore,  and  tied  the  canoe  to  a  tree  by 
its  shortened  painter.  Then,  carefully,  be- 
cause it  was  pitch  dark  in  the  undergrowth, 
and  because  Baillie  must  not  know  of  his 
coming,  he  commenced  crawling  on  his  hands 
and  knees  towards  the  sound. 

He  knew  now  that  the  girl  must  be  discover- 
ing the  real  Baillie  at  last — that  she  had  been 
no  party  to  this  contretemps.  The  fear  in  her 
voice  told  him  that.  The  outcroppings  of 
Baillie 's  true  character  in  this  unconventional 
situation  were  revealing  him.  Aware  that 
circumstances  often  forced  the  people  of  the 
north  into  unavoidably  delicate  situations, 
Temple  divined  that  June's  acceptance  of  this 
one  had  been  frank  and  innocent,  disturbed 
only  by  the  thought  of  her  father's  anxiety. 
She  had  expected,  of  course,  the  same  chival- 
rous and  honourable  treatment  that  were 


138  Star  of  the  North 

accorded  her  on  many  a  winter  journey  alone 
with  Indian  or  trapper;  a  fact  which  alone 
showed  how  wrongly  she  had  guessed  at  Baillie's 
true  nature,  and  how  she  had  accepted  his 
self -gilding  as  gold. 

Temple,  dripping  with  perspiration,  struggled 
on  through  the  undergrowth,  his  hands  and 
clothes  torn,  and  his  face  scratched.  The 
earth  was  cold  and  had  a  dank,  water-soaked 
smell.  Nearer  and  nearer  he  drew  to  the 
murmur  of  voices. 

Then,  suddenly,  par  ting  the  bushes,  hesaw  the 
clearing.  The  fire  was  not  large,  but  it  sufficed 
to  reveal  the  two  figures  standing  facing  each 
other  in  silhouette,  the  utensils  and  supplies 
on  the  ground,  and  the  sombre  encircling  trees. 

What  the  two  had  been  saying  Paul  did  not 
know,  but  now  he  heard  Baillie's  voice,  half- 
indistinguishable,  as  it  poured  out  passionate 
words  in  a  murmur  of  tenderness.  He  stepped 
towards  June,  but  she  shrank  back.  Then, 
as  if  goaded,  the  man  seemed  to  lose  all  con- 
trol, and  springing  towards  her  caught  her  in 
a  fierce  embrace. 


The  Reckoning  139 

Then  Temple  saw  red.  As  he  leaped  from 
his  cover  a  low,  guttural  snarl  purred  in  his 
throat,  and  his  long,  powerful  fingers  curved 
prehensilely.  But  for  the  convention  of  dress 
he  had  been  flung  back  a  hundred  thousand 
years.  It  was  a  Stone  Age  scene  of  savage 
love  and  hate  in  the  primeval  wilderness. 

Upon  the  struggling  pair  before  they  knew 
it,  he  wrenched  back  one  of  Baillie's  arms,  at 
the  same  time  seizing  him  by  the  throat. 
Then  with  a  great  thrust  he  hurled  him  reeling 
back  among  the  shadows. 

June,  after  one  cry  of  terror,  recognized 
Paul  and  called  his  name.  Then,  in  the  grip 
of  reaction,  she  broke  into  hysterical  weeping. 
But  he  did  not  hear  her.  Crouched,  walking 
on  the  balls  of  his  feet,  his  hands  half -stretched 
before  him,  he  waited  for  Baillie. 

The  other  came,  his  face  a  white  flame  of 
fury.  He,  too,  had  recognized  his  assailant, 
and  the  thought  that  his  rival,  who  had 
shamed  him  once  before,  should  have  found 
his  way  here  and  interfered  as  he  had  promised 
to  do  long  since,  lashed  him  almost  to  mad- 


140  Star  of  the  North 

ness.  With  contorted  faces  and  narrowed 
eyes  they  circled  slowly,  silently,  their  breath- 
ing hoarse  above  the  merry  chatter  of  the 
little  rapid.  They  faced  each  other  almost  of 
a  size  and  weight,  and  hardened  by  weeks  in 
the  north.  Suddenly  Baillie  leaped,  and  they 
had  closed.  Baillie's  hands  found  Temple's 
head,  and  his  bent  thumbs  felt  for  the  eyes  in 
the  old  gouger's  hold.  Temple,  blinded, 
hooked  a  lucky  right  with  all  his  strength  close 
behind  the  other's  ear,  and  the  torturing  grip 
relaxed  an  instant.  Temple  broke  the  hands 
apart  and  got  away. 

June,  her  hands  clasped  to  her  breast, 
watched,  silent,  wide-eyed,  white-faced. 

Shaking  his  head  as  if  to  clear  it  from  the 
fog  of  Temple's  blow,  Baillie  leaped  in  again, 
feinting  for  the  head.  The  next  instant  he 
had  Temple  by  the  waist  and  had  thrown  him 
crashing  to  the  ground ;  and  then  with  a  savage 
snarl  he  leaped  for  him,  his  feet  drawn  up  for 
the  deadly  lumber-jack's  kick.  But  Temple 
rolled  over  and  over,  and  the  other  missed. 
On  his  feet  again  with  a  spring,  Temple  met 


The  Reckoning  141 

Baillie  coming  in,  and  the  circling  commenced 
once  more. 

They  were  panting  now  and  their  faces 
glistened  with  sweat.  But  Temple  had  learned 
the  man  and  the  game  he  had  to  beat,  and  was 
ready.  As  he  manoeuvred  Baillie  so  that  he 
faced  the  fire,  Paul  leaped.  He  caught  the 
other  off  his  guard  and,  with  a  left  to  the  jaw, 
felled  him.  Baillie  was  up  in  an  instant,  but 
could  not  get  set.  A  cold  fury  of  determina- 
tion to  punish  those  two  foul  attacks  sent 
Temple  after  him,  pounding,  blocking  parry- 
ing, but  always  beating  him  down  and  back. 
On  they  fought,  panting  hoarsely,  battered, 
tiring. 

"Oh,  don't,  don't!    Paul!    Jack!" 

It  was  June,  appalled  by  their  savagery. 

Baillie  turned  towards  her,  half -whimpering; 
but  her  great  eyes  were  not  upon  him  now. 
They  were  fixed  on  Temple  with  a  look  of 
awed  wonder,  almost  timorous  admiration; 
the  look  of  the  Cave  Maiden  for  her  victorious 
champion. 

There  was  no  sensational  ending,  no  vie- 


142  Star  of  the  North 

torious,  supreme  effort.  Crashing  and  batter- 
ing, the  fight  went  on  with  Baillie  weakening 
fast.  He  knew  better  than  to  beg  for  quarter, 
and  Temple  offered  none. 

At  last  three  final  blows  broke  through  his 
futile  guard,  and  he  went  down  to  stay. 

1 '  Get  up ! "  Paul's  swollen  lips  could  scarce- 
ly mumble  the  words.  The  other  did  not  stir, 
but  Paul  knew  by  his  breathing  he  was  con- 
scious. He  stirred  him  contemptuously  with 
his  foot. 

"Any  more?" 

"No." 

Paul  turned  away  and  went  weakly  towards 
June. 

"Now  tell  me  about  it,"  he  said. 

When  the  moon  rose  that  night  it  looked 
down  upon  a  canoe  in  which  a  girl  and  a  bat- 
tered man  paddled,  and  on  the  bottom  of 
which  lay  another  man,  groaning.  The  man 
who  paddled  swayed  in  his  seat,  but  the  girl 
behind  splashed  water  on  him  and  encouraged 
him  with  cheerful,  brisk  words. 


CHAPTER  XII 

TRANSITION 

1WIOVIE  work  at  the  Graphic  camp  had 
changed,  but  though  the  "Wilderness 
Idyl"  was  delayed,  and  would  be  until  snow 
came,  the  people  were  not  idle.  A  series  of 
one-  and  two-reel  dramas,  some  in  the  sce- 
nario, and  some  leaping  Minerva-like  from  the 
square  dome  of  Tom  Briscoe,  kept  all  hands 
busy.  This  was  the  short  stuff  that  had  torn 
Goldie  Burke  from  her  beloved  Manhattan. 
And  at  Briscoe's  order  Temple  directed  some 
of  it. 

Also  as  cold  weather  approached,  a  new 
and  important  activity  developed  about  the 
Graphic  general  storehouse,  a  low,  log  build- 
ing which  sheltered  both  "prop"  and  commis- 
sary departments.  Two  long,  low,  iron-shod 
Arctic  sledges,  with  gee-poles  stuck  out  ahead 

143 


144  Star  of  the  North 

for  guiding,  were  hauled  forth  and  examined 
by  the  carpenter.  Two  score  snow-shoes  ap- 
peared and  underwent  repairs.  Rows  of  fur 
and  deerskin  suits  with  capotes,  leggings, 
mittens,  and  shoepacks  were  hung  out  to  air 
and  sent  up  a  fearful  odour  of  mothballs. 
These,  the  costumes  in  which  the  characters 
would  traverse  the  snowy  wilderness,  had  all 
been  brought  from  New  York  with  the  com- 
pany, as  Briscoe  had  refused  to  risk  outfitting 
his  crowd  on  chance  after  reaching  camp. 

At  the  same  time  the  country  was  being 
scoured  for  bushy-tailed  huskies  or  malamutes 
to  make  the  dog  trains,  and  in  the  procuring 
of  these  dogs  Fleming  Magregor  was  of  great 
assistance.  He  arranged  with  a  young  Indian 
trapper  to  come  and  live  at  the  camp  in  order 
to  care  for  and  train  the  brutes  so  that  they 
would  be  in  condition  when  needed.  A  pen 
was  constructed  for  them  below  the  bluff  on 
the  river  bank,  and  as  they  were  bought  they 
were  confined  there  and  fed  into  condition,  it 
being  a  habit  of  the  Indians  to  starve  their 
dogs  all  summer. 


Transition  145 

The  first  storm  of  winter  was  expected  at 
any  time.  Every  night  there  was  a  heavy 
frost,  and  the  few  hardy  Graphics  who  still 
braved  the  early  morning  plunge  in  the  pool, 
found  a  thin  edging  of  ice  in  their  bath  tub. 
All  the  women  and  nearly  all  the  men  had 
abandoned  tent-life  by  this  time,  and  the 
fires  in  the  cabin  stoves  (sheet-iron  affairs 
freighted  north  by  flatboat)  were  grateful 
luxuries. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Briscoe  to  realize 
fully  the  situation  existing  between  Paul  and 
Baillie  and  yet  to  say  nothing.  So  long  as 
the  work  went  well  and  his  people  did  not 
alter  one  another's  beauty  too  much,  he  kept 
himself  aloof  from  their  difficulties.  But, 
that  he  did  not  interfere  after  the  fight  was 
only  due  to  the  fact  that  he  had  plans  of  his 
own  afoot  which  he  wished  to  further. 

With  all  regard  for  the  romances  of  his  prin- 
cipals, he  had  his  own  ideas  regarding  June 
and  her  future,  and  one  day  when  the  company 
was  out  under  Paul's  direction,  he  tramped 
down  the  river  trail  to  Fort  McLeod  to  lay 


146  Star  of  the  North 

them  before  her.  After  talking  for  an  hour 
with  the  factor,  who  spoke  of  a  trip  north 
he  would  probably  make  shortly,  June  ap- 
peared and  Briscoe  asked  her  to  walk  with 
him. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  yourself 
for  the  rest  of  your  life?"  he  asked  bluntly  by 
way  of  introduction. 

June  smiled  a  little  doubtfully  at  the  large- 
ness of  the  question.  She  seemed  pale,  Briscoe 
thought,  and  he  damned  the  lovers  and  the 
romantic  nonsense  that  had  changed  her  from 
the  radiant  girl  she  had  been. 

"Here's  what  I've  come  to  say,"  he  stated 
abruptly.  "You've  got  acting  talent,  Miss 
Magregor,  and  looks,  and  nerve,  and  presence. 
When  you  come  on  the  screen,  audiences  will 
know  it.  Best  of  all,  you're  new  and  different. 
But  you're  raw  and  untrained;  you  need 
seasoning  and  experience.  Sign  yourself  to 
work  under  my  direction  for  five  years,  and 
I'll  make  you  the  greatest  motion  picture 
actress  in  the  world." 

The  mistress  of  that  lonely  northern  fur 


Transition  147 

post  stared  at  him,  unable  to  reply.  But  with 
a  brisk  gesture  he  went  on: 

"This  is  my  gamble,  but  I've  got  faith  in 
you.  There  are  ten  thousand  girls  in  America 
right  now  who  would  sell  their  souls  for  this 
chance.  If  you're  what  I  think  you  are,  it'll 
make  you.  Fame,  money,  a  chance  to  see 
the  world — you'll  have  'em  all.  But  it'll  be 
hard  work."  He  paused  a  moment.  "And 
as  for  the  publicity  material  in  you — whew!" 

When  they  had  discussed  the  details  June 
was  silent  for  a  long  time.  Briscoe  had  de- 
tected a  change  in  her,  but  he  had  not  fath- 
omed its  depth,  and  despite  his  half -angry  as- 
tonishment at  her  lack  of  enthusiasm  she  could 
not  tell  him. 

She  could  not  tell  him  that  two  weeks  ago 
she  would  have  jumped  at  the  offer  and  con- 
sidered herself  the  luckiest  girl  in  the  world; 
nor  could  she  tell  him  what  had  taken  place 
in  that  fortnight.  She  herself  scarcely  real- 
ized. She  only  knew  that  she  had  been  seared 
by  life,  and  that  the  glories  of  the  greater 
world  he  offered  were  turned  to  ashes  and 


148  Star  of  the  North 

tinsel.  They  left  her  cold  and  unstirred. 
Bruised  and  hurt,  she  clung  now  very  close  to 
her  father  and  the  simple,  familiar  things. 

But  she  did  not  refuse  him.  Profoundly 
grateful,  she  told  him  she  would  consider  the 
offer  from  every  point  of  view,  and  give  him 
her  answer  before  the  company  returned  to 
New  York. 

Though  Briscoe  ignored  the  rivalry  between 
Baillie  and  Temple,  the  company  was  not  so 
considerate,  and  from  the  night  of  the  fight 
the  camp  buzzed  with  gossip.  Difficulties 
between  principals  are  more  or  less  open 
secrets,  but  the  climax  to  this  one  had  come 
like  a  thunderclap. 

"They  say,"  remarked  Goldie  Burke,  "that 
living  in  these  here  wildernesses  full  of  animals 
makes  men  go  back  till  they're  brutes  them- 
selves. Well,  mebbe,  but  you  got  to  show  me. 
I  like  my  little  ol'  Gotham,  but  if  there's  any 
bigger  brutes  than  pads  Times  Square,  day 
an*  night,  I  haven't  seen  'em."  Goldie,  who 
insisted  on  wearing  her  New  York  apparel  in 


Transition  149 

the  face  of  the  derision  of  the  entire  camp, 
cracked  her  chewing  gum  loudly.  "An*  yet 
I'm  that  lonesome,  if  anybody  made  a  noise 
like  a  taxicab  I'd  run  away  like  a  meter." 

Though  aware  of  the  cloud  of  gossip  through 
which  he  moved,  Paul  cheerfully  ignored  it. 
After  the  fight,  he  found  absorption  and  relief 
in  the  new  work  of  direction  Briscoe  had  given 
him,  and  refrained  from  going  to  see  June  until 
the  first  furore  should  have  subsided.  Baillie, 
he  was  certain,  after  one  look  at  the  other's 
features,  would  not  go  for  some  time. 

Then  one  rainy  morning  about  a  week  after 
the  trouble,  when  the  poor  light  made  it  im- 
possible to  work,  Paul  paddled  down  to  Mc- 
Leod.  He  arrived  in  the  midst  of  preparations 
for  the  factor's  journey. 

"One  of  the  Commissioners  from  Montreal 
has  arrived  at  Moose  Factory  on  an  inspec- 
tion trip  through  the  district,  and  father  has 
to  report  to  him  there, ' '  June  explained.  Then 
she  pointed  to  a  tall,  lithe  young  Indian. 
"  That's  Jim  Albert,"  she  said,  "one  of  our  men 
who  has  been  at  Moose  all  summer.  He'll 


150  Star  of  the  North 

go  up  with  father  and  probably  come  back 
with  him.  They're  going  to  chance  making 
it  before  snow  comes.  It  will  be  close  reck- 
oning." 

"And  will  you  stay  here  alone?" 

"Oh,  yes."  She  spoke  matter-of-factly. 
"Someone  must  be  factor  and  trader  while 
father's  gone.  I've  done  it  often." 

Despite  the  confusion  at  the  fort  June  in- 
vited Paul  to  stay  to  lunch.  It  was  a  hurried 
meal,  punctuated  by  the  factor's  orders  and 
the  coming  and  going  of  his  men.  Imme- 
diately afterwards  Magregor  and  Jim  Albert 
started  north  down  the  Onipee  by  canoe,  and 
when  they  had  gone,  June  with  a  sigh  of  relief 
led  the  way  back  into  the  house  to  the  low, 
heavily  beamed  living  room  where  a  log-fire 
crackled  in  the  enormous  fireplace. 

As  he  sank  into  one  of  the  massive,  home- 
made chairs  and  looked  at  the  girl,  Temple 
felt,  as  Briscoe  had  done,  the  change  that  had 
taken  place  in  her  since  their  last  dramatic 
meeting.  She  seemed  graver,  more  thought- 
ful, more  mature. 


Transition  151 

"Why  haven't  you  come  to  see  me  before?" 
she  suddenly  asked,  looking  at  him  with  level, 
dark  eyes.  "I  have  needed  you." 

' '  Needed  me  ? ' '  Her  direct  piercing  through 
superficialities  to  the  deeper,  intimate  thing 
caught  him  a  little  unprepared.  It  was  con- 
firmation of  the  change  he  had  noted  in  her; 
it  marked  the  difference  in  their  relationship. 

"Yes,"  she  replied  half -musingly,  "it's 
strange,  isn't  it,  but  I  always  seem  to  need 
you,  and  you  always  seem  to  come  when  I 
need  you  most.  You  see  I'm  trying  to  tell  you 
how  grateful  I  am  for — the  other  night." 

"Oh,  please — it  was  nothing,"  he  depre- 
cated. "I  just  happened  to  find  the  canoe 
and " 

"But  you  came — just  as  you  came  the  first 
time  at  the  rapid.  And  you  were  splendid." 
Her  voice  thrilled  with  admiration,  and  for 
an  instant  there  shone  in  her  eyes  the  same 
look,  almost  of  pride,  with  which  she  had 
watched  his  conquering  of  Baillie. 

"You  must  know" —  his  voice  was  low 
and  vibrant  with  feeling — "that  I  would  al- 


152  Star  of  the  North 

ways  come  when  you  needed  me,  if  it  were 
half  around  the  world."  His  pulses  were 
beating  fast  and  he  found  it  difficult  to  breathe. 
A  swift,  new  wonder  was  taking  possession  of 
him.  Never  had  they  talked  like  this  before. 

Her  elbow  was  on  her  knee  and  her  chin  in 
her  hand  as  she  stared  into  the  leaping  flames. 

"I  believe  you,"  she  said  in  the  same  half- 
musing  tone  as  if  she  were  just  becoming  aware 
of  the  fact.  "You  have  never  failed  me  yet. 
That's  the  wonderful  thing  about  you,  Paul. 
Whatever  has  happened,  you  haven't  failed 
me.  Sometimes  I  have  felt,  oh,  so  alone  and 
helpless — I  can't  ask  father  some  things,  you 
know, — and  I've  thought,  'Oh,  if  I  could  only 
ask  Paul !  He  would  tell  me  what  to  do. ' 

"You  trust  and  believe  in  me  as  much  as 
that ! ' '  He,  too,  was  staring  into  the  fire.  He 
dared  not  meet  her  eyes.  Upon  his  senses 
was  stealing  a  delicious  consciousness  of  her 
nearness,  and  over  and  over,  he  asked  himself 
wonderingly:  "What  has  happened  to  make 
her  speak  to  me  like  this?" 

' '  Yes, ' '  she  answered  his  question.     ' '  Some- 


Transition  153 

times  I  think  you're  the  only  person  or  thing 
in  the  world  I  do  believe  in."  She  paused  a 
moment.  "I've  been  so  in  the  dark  lately. 
I  just  couldn't  see  light  anywhere.  That's 
why  I've  needed  you — to  show  it  to  me.  But 
when  you  didn't  come  I've  thought  of  you, 
strong  and  true  and  honest,  and  I've  felt 
that,  after  all,  there  must  be  good  in  the 
world." 

He  sat  silent  a  moment,  fighting  to  keep 
his  head  and  see  things  clearly.  All  that  she 
had  been  passing  through  he  could  not  fully 
comprehend,  but  he  realized  that  she  had 
turned  to  him  for  comfort  instinctively,  like  a 
child.  And  yet  she  was  a  child  no  longer. 
Her  look,  her  manner,  her  voice,  all  these  re- 
vealed the  greatness  of  the  change  the  week 
had  wrought  in  her.  It  was  a  woman  who 
talked  with  him  today.  She  had  told  him 
frankly  that  he  was  her  only  firm  anchor  in 
the  first  storm  of  her  life.  Oh,  to  keep  her 
faith  in  him! 

"  There  is  good  in  the  world,"  he  replied,  his 
voice  deep  with  conviction.  "I  know  it.  If 


154  Star  of  the  North 

one  plays  the  game  straight,  and  has  faith, 
things  must  come  right  in  the  end." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  little  spark  of  the 
earlier  admiration  in  her  eyes.  "It's  what  I 
thought  you'd  say.  And  it's  what  you'd  do 
— play  the  game  straight.  You  always  have." 

The  words  of  unquestioning  belief  in  him 
brought  him  up  sharply  to  face  a  relentless 
question.  Had  he  played  the  game  straight, 
knowing  with  every  conscious  breath  that  he 
was  not  free?  He  pondered  the  point  deeply, 
as  he  had  done  over  and  over  in  the  past. 
And  today  again,  as  always  before,  his  con- 
viction was  in  the  affirmative.  To  fight 
Baillie  for  June  he  had  done  rightly. 

But  now? 

Temple  groaned  inwardly.  What  did  this 
sudden  change  in  June,  her  sudden  need  of 
him  imply?  Certainly  complete  trust  and 
dependence,  if  not  the  dawning  of  love  itself. 
And  that  could  mean  but  one  thing:  that  the 
Baillie  myth  had  been  exploded  and  the  idol 
lay  crumbled  at  her  feet. 

And  Temple  faced  this  inexorable  situation : 


Transition  155 

The  thing  for  which  he  had  worked  was 
done;  his  mission  accomplished.  Then  in 
not  telling  her  now  all  the  truth  about  himself 
he  would  be  a  cad ;  he  would  be  betraying  her 
faith  in  him. 

In  the  grip  of  a  temptation  stronger  than 
any  he  had  ever  known,  he  suddenly  left  his 
chair  and  walked  to  the  window.  His  thin, 
sensitive  face  seemed  suddenly  gaunt,  almost 
pinched,  but  from  head  to  foot  he  was  aflame 
with  passion,  with  the  clamour  of  long-denied 
yearning  both  of  the  soul  and  the  senses. 

With  Baillie  disposed  of  what  was  to  prevent 
his  claiming  June?  Experience  of  life  told 
him  that  her  instincts  had  pointed  her  at  last 
towards  him.  She  did  not  realize  it  yet,  else 
she  could  not  have  talked  to  him  as  she  had 
just  done,  but  he  sensed  that  with  the  slight- 
est touch  the  scales  would  swing  in  his  favour. 

Could  he  give  that  touch?  To  retell  her 
his  love,  but  not  his  past,  to  see  the  dawn  of 
answering  passion  rise  in  her  eyes,  to  claim 
that  swift,  ecstatic  moment  of  realization  and 
surrender;  to  live  like  two  innocent  children 


156  Star  of  the  North 

in  their  bliss  for  a  little  while — this  was  what 
he  asked  of  life. 

It  seemed  to  him  now  that  his  whole  exist- 
ence had  been  ripening  towards  this  consum- 
mation ;  he  was  convinced  that  a  Plan  stronger 
than  his  own  will  had  sent  him  north  at  this 
time  to  meet  June  and  to  love  her.  Instincts 
so  subtle  as  to  be  unnameable  whispered  that 
it  was  she  for  whom  he  had  been  searching 
unconsciously  all  these  years;  she  seemed 
utterly  to  fulfil  and  complete  his  personality. 

Clean,  virile,  honourable,  he  had  served 
five  long  years,  and  now  must  he  risk  his  reward 
by  telling  her  of  his  hateful  tie,  and  all  the 
wretched  story  of  that  sordid  past?  How 
much  that  risk  was,  he  realized  fully,  knowing 
June.  Direct  as  a  beam  of  sunlight,  pure  as 
one  of  her  own  streams,  could  she  look  upon 
his  life — even  his  deceit  to  save  her — with 
anything  but  repugnance? 

So  imperious  was  her  unconscious  call  to 
him,  so  eager  his  response,  that  his  battle 
changed  its  ground.  It  became  a  question 
less  whether  he  should  tell  of  his  earlier  mar- 


Transition  157 

riage,  than  whether  he  could  get  from  that 
room  without  pouring  out  his  love  and  sweep- 
ing her  with  him  on  an  irresistible  tide. 

The  walls  and  ceiling  of  the  place  seemed 
to  be  pressing  in  and  down  upon  him;  he  felt 
as  if  he  were  suffocating.  Somehow,  on  some 
pretext,  he  never  knew  what,  he  found  excuse 
to  leave.  She  followed  him  to  the  door  a  little 
puzzled  and  bewildered. 

"You  will  come  again  and  often,  now  that 
I  am  to  be  alone,  won't  you?"  she  asked  from 
the  doorway. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  promised,  "I'll  see  you — 
often." 

But  though  the  days  passed  in  a  fever  of 
work,  the  struggle  within  him  went  on  without 
decision.  Because  he  was  a  man  and  human, 
he  could  not  risk  the  loss  of  her  on  a  single 
cast  of  the  die.  Because  he  was  the  anchor  of 
her  faith  and  belief  he  could  not  bring  himself 
to  transgress  her  ideal  of  him.  So,  torn 
between  the  two,  he  waited,  seeking  con- 
stantly for  some  ray  of  light  to  pierce  the 
gloom  of  his  indecision. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

BAILLIE   MAKES   A   DISCOVERY 

COR  a  week  there  had  been  the  alertness 
of  expectancy  at  camp  Graphic.  The 
guides  to  whose  skill  and  management  the 
place  owed  its  existence,  once  Briscoe  had 
created  it,  stared  weather- wisely  into  the 
sky  and  sniffed  the  wind. 

"She's  a-comin',"  they  avowed,  "but  she 
ain't  just  set  yet.  A  day  or  so  and " 

Then  one  night  the  sun  went  down  in  a 
mass  of  sullen,  heavy  black  clouds,  and  a  high 
northwest  wind  came  sweeping  through  the 
forest  with  the  bellow  of  a  howling  beast 
broken  loose. 

"She's  sot,"  said  the  chief  guide,  "strike 
them  last  tents  quick!" 

"Ah,  ze  snow,  he  come,  I  smell  her!" 
beamed  Pierre,  a  vagrant  lumber-jack  who 

158. 


Baillie  Makes  a  Discovery        159 

chopped  wood  for  the  camp.  "Today  ees 
summer;  demain  ees  wintear,  by  Gar!" 

Supper  was  eaten  that  evening  to  the  click- 
ing accompaniment  of  hard  snow  particles 
driven  against  the  mess-house  windows,  and 
when  the  party  separated  that  night  the  men 
could  scarcely  force  their  way  against  the  gale 
to  their  quarters. 

All  night  the  storm  raged,  and  when  morn- 
ing came  the  Graphics  looked  out  upon  a  dizzy 
world  of  swirling  white  in  which  the  figures  of 
the  guides  could  be  seen  dimly  as  they  struggled 
to  clear  a  few  necessary  paths.  Not  for  an 
instant  was  there  a  sign  of  abatement  of  the 
storm,  and  all  thought  of  work  was  abandoned. 

The  day  of  idleness  was  grateful.  The  men 
lolled  and  smoked  in  their  bunks,  or  worked 
in  relays  helping  the  shovellers  in  their  losing 
fight  against  the  drifts. 

"My  Gawd!"  said  Goldie  Burke.  "If  I'd 
a  known  I  was  goin'  to  be  let  in  for  this,  I'd  a 
joined  Peary  and  went  to  the  North  Pole." 

"No,  Goldie,"  replied  Elsie  Tanner — the 
women  were  sitting  about  the  glowing  stove 


160  Star  of  the  North 

in  their  bunkhouse — "with  your  luck  you'd 
have  picked  Doc  Cook,  and  had  all  your 
trouble  for  nothing." 

That  night,  isolated  as  they  were  from  all 
the  world,  made  intimate  by  the  close  walls  of 
the  storm,  good  feeling  ran  high.  A  vaude- 
ville performance  was  quickly  arranged;  pop- 
corn and  other  necessities  appeared  mysteri- 
ously from  somewhere,  and  the  mess  house 
became  the  scene  of  gay  hilarity:  a  warm, 
bright  picture  against  the  desolation  of  the 
raging  storm  outside. 

Then  during  the  second  night  the  wind 
stopped  as  mysteriously  as  it  had  begun,  and 
the  Graphics  went  to  breakfast  next  morning 
through  a  dazzling  white  world  overarched  by 
a  blue  sky.  They  walked  between  snow  cliffs 
as  high  as  their  heads. 

Briscoe,  who  had  spent  the  two  days  of  rest 
in  his  cabin  finishing  snow-scene  and  costume 
charts,  sounded  the  universal  note  when  he 
rose  in  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  centre 
table  and  said: 

"Children,  we've  got  just  so  much  work 


Baillie  Makes  a  Discovery        161 

ahead  of  us  here  in  this  snowdrift.  The 
sooner  we  get  it  done  right,  the  sooner  we 
get  home.  So  let's  go  to  it  hard  and  clean  it 
up.  This  morning  there  will  be  a  full  costume 
rehearsal  to  learn  sledge-driving,  trail  making 
and  winter  camping.  The  Indian  tells  me  his 
dogs  are  ready,  so  we  can  start  at  once.  Now 
on  the  jump  everybody." 

An  hour  later  Peter,  the  young  Ojibway, 
drove  up  Broadway  with  his  sledge  and  team, 
bells  tinkling,  whip  cracking,  and  dogs  clam- 
ouring a  chorus  of  joy.  Seven  huskies,  sharp- 
eared  and  bushy-tailed,  formed  the  team. 
In  the  lead  was  a  huge,  brown  animal,  half- 
wolf  and  half -dog.  The  long  traces  of  moose- 
hide  extended  from  the  sledge  to  his  harness, 
and  the  other  dogs  were  in  additional  har- 
nesses attached  three  on  each  side  behind  him. 
The  breast  bands  were  adorned  with  little 
sleigh-bells. 

No  sooner  had  Peter  halted  his  outfit  than 
the  dogs  fell  upon  each  other  in  one  ferocious 
free  fight.  The  interested  Graphics  fell  back 
in  dismay,  but  the  Indian  without  the  slightest 


162  Star  of  the  North 

excitement  stood  back,  and,  with  his  long 
black  whip,  flicked  pieces  of  fur  and  skin 
out  of  the  squirming,  snarling  mass  until 
the  savage  brutes  crept  whining  apart.  It 
took  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  untangle  the 
harnesses. 

The  Graphics  scarcely  knew  themselves. 
Furred,  with  parkas  or  hoods  over  their  heads, 
mittened  and  snow-shoe  shod,  they  looked 
like  a  party  of  Arctic  explorers.  Some  of  the 
women's  costumes,  particularly  that  of  Mar- 
guerite French,  were  almost  priceless.  She 
appeared  in  a  dress  of  otter  skins  sewed 
together  with  the  fur  turned  in,  and  presenting 
to  the  weather  a  surface  as  soft  and  pliable 
as  chamois.  The  dress  was  exquisitely  em- 
broidered with  coloured  beads  and  porcupine 
quills,  and  had  at  one  time  adorned  the  person 
of  a  wealthy  Eskimo  squaw  north  of  the 
arctic  circle. 

Briscoe  regarded  the  assemblage  with  the 
eye  of  approval. 

"You  look  all  right,"  he  said  dubiously, 
"but  I  don't  know  how  many  of  you  will  go 


Baillie  Makes  a  Discovery        163 

over  instead  of  through  the  first  snowdrift. 
Take  'em  for  a  hike,  Peter,  and  find  out." 

The  dark-skinned  youth  gathered  up  his 
whip. 

"Mush  on,  you!  Mush  on!"  he  cried,  and 
the  lash  cracked  like  a  pistol  shot.  The  dogs 
leaped  against  the  traces,  the  sledge,  loaded 
with  stone  for  ballast,  creaked  as  it  started, 
and  a  moment  later  the  Graphics  were  strug- 
gling behind  it  down  the  silent,  white-carpeted 
forest  aisle.  .  .  . 

Two  days  later  "takes"  had  begun,  and  the 
second  phase  of  the  work  that  had  brought 
them  north  was  under  way. 

Everyone  worked  hard  and,  to  the  watchful 
eye  of  Briscoe,  none  harder  apparently  than 
Jack  Baillie.  At  this  time  the  juvenile  was 
an  enigma  to  the  camp.  Since  the  fight  on  the 
island  he  had  seemed  a  different  man.  In 
direct  contrast  to  his  natural  character  he  had 
retired  within  himself;  was  sullen  and  silent. 
He  was  smarting  bitterly  under  defeat,  both 
in  battle  and  in  love,  and  as  Temple  had  been 
responsible  for  both,  all  the  venom  of  his 


164  Star  of  the  North 

unforgiving  nature  was  directed  against  the 
other.  Hadn't  Temple  promised,  that  day 
of  their  first  disagreement:  "When  the  time 
comes  I'll  make  your  business  mine"?  And 
hadn't  he  done  as  he  had  promised?  More- 
over, by  so  doing  had  he  not  cleverly  cleared 
the  way  for  his  own  suit? 

This  was  the  most  maddening,  the  most 
insupportable  thought  of  all,  and  Baillie,  con- 
sumed with  hatred  and  impotent  rage,  had 
sworn  to  have  revenge. 

But  how?  How  to  crush  Temple  even  as 
he  himself  had  been  crushed? 

His  stinging  pride  made  it  imperative  that 
he  re-establish  some  intercourse  with  June. 
As  things  stood  now  he  dared  not  go  near  her. 
The  role  of  repentant  suppliant  always  re- 
mained open,  of  course.  He  was  clever  enough 
to  know  exactly  the  nature  and  degree  of  his 
influence  over  the  girl,  but  he  would  only  use 
this  means  if  every  other  failed.  It  was  too 
humiliating.  He  wanted  to  go  back  sorrowful 
but  unbroken,  repentant  but  temperamental 
still.  He  must  appear  as  the  double  victim 


Baillie  Makes  a  Discovery        165 

of  his  own  passion  and  her  misunderstanding, 
and  seem  really  her  truest  adorer  and  most 
stainless  cavalier. 

But  this  could  only  happen  with  the  dis- 
crediting or  removal  of  Temple,  and  how  to 
bring  this  about  he  did  not  see. 

During  those  first  bitter  days  Baillie  had 
watched  the  movements  of  his  rival  with 
malignant  hatred,  expecting  him  to  go  often 
to  the  fort,  in  furtherance  of  his  suit.  But 
as  time  passed  and  Paul  went  but  once,  he 
commenced  to  speculate. 

That  Temple  loved  June,  Baillie  did  not 
doubt.  The  fact,  then,  of  his  abandoning  a 
clear  field  was  incomprehensible  except  for  two 
reasons :  either  June  had  refused  him,  or  there 
was  some  thitherto  unsuspected  impasse  that 
restrained  him. 

The  first  of  these  he  did  not  credit  seriously. 
A  knowledge  of  Paul's  relationship  with  June, 
gathered  from  her,  told  him  that  the  other 
had  not  yet  forced  the  matter  to  the  final 
issue.  The  second  appeared  more  probable. 
It  was  one  of  Baillie's  most  sneering  admis- 


166  Star  of  the  North 

sions  that  Paul  was  "honourable,"  but  now 
the  fact  struck  him  with  a  sudden  new  mean- 
ing and  force. 

"If  he's  so  honourable  there  must  be  some 
reason  why  he  can't  marry  June,"  he  thought. 

It  was  the  one  door  that  might  open  up 
the  avenue  of  revenge.  He  sought  for  it 
constantly,  eagerly,  performing  his  work  at 
the  camp  with  conscientious  care,  but  all  the 
time  alert  for  some  fact  that  would  give  him 
a  clue  to  the  thing  he  sought — a  dropped 
word,  a  conversation  of  men  apart,  or  better 
still,  the  gossip  of  women. 

But  his  efforts  were  in  vain.  Then  came 
the  snow  and  the  change  to  the  new  phase  of 
work. 

One  day  while  rehearsing  a  "take"  with 
one  of  the  sledges,  he  was  guiding  the  cumber- 
some vehicle  by  the  gee-pole  in  front  when  he 
slipped  and  fell,  and  the  steel-shod  runner  cut 
across  his  moccasin-clad  foot.  The  snow 
yielded  somewhat,  and  he  escaped  with  only 
a  badly  strained  ligament.  But  Briscoe, 
taking  no  chances  of  a  prolonged  delay  in  the 


Baillie  Makes  a  Discovery        167 

work,  commanded  him  to  remain  in  camp  for 
two  days. 

Baillie  obeyed.  The  first  day  he  was  con- 
fined to  his  bunk,  but  the  second  he  was  able 
to  move  about  indoors  with  the  aid  of  a  cane. 
He  tried  to  dissipate  the  tedium  of  confine- 
ment by  reading  or  playing  solitaire,  but  each 
in  turn  lost  its  charm.  He  faced  long  hours 
alone  in  the  bunkhouse. 

This  building  was  little  better  than  a  prison. 
Long,  with  square-paned  windows,  and  built 
as  usual,  of  logs  chinked  with  cement,  it  was 
cramped  for  room  and  badly  lighted.  Along 
each  side-wall  were  frameworks  reaching 
almost  to  the  roof  which  contained  three  tiers 
of  bunks.  The  windows  were  at  each  end, 
and  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  two  stoves 
gave  heat.  The  clothes  of  the  men  hung  on 
nails  driven  in  every  available  corner,  and 
their  trunks  were  stowed  beneath  the  bunk 
frames. 

The  afternoon  of  the  second  day,  having 
exhausted  every  means  of  amusement  at  his 
command,  Baillie's  thoughts  returned,  as  they 


168  Star  of  the  North 

always  did,  to  the  obsession  of  Temple  and 
his  projected  revenge. 

He  glanced  at  the  bunk  where  Temple  slept, 
and  under  it  he  saw  his  trunk.  A  swift,  daring 
thought  came  to  him.  He  looked  again  at 
the  trunk.  It  was  unlocked,  as  were  practi- 
cally all  those  in  the  bunkhouse,  for  the  men 
changing  from  wet  things  so  often,  had  long 
since  ceased  to  lock  their  baggage.  They 
trusted  each  other  with  the  mutual  confidence 
of  long  intimacy. 

Baillie  limped  to  the  windows  and  looked 
out.  No  one  was  in  sight.  It  was  three 
o'clock,  the  hour  when  the  camp  hands  laid  off 
in  preparation  for  the  work  of  dinner  and  the 
evening.  With  a  final  glance,  Baillie  returned 
to  Temple's  bunk,  knelt  down  on  the  floor 
gingerly,  and  pulled  the  trunk  forward. 

Lifting  the  cover  he  opened  the  tray  and 
saw  hundreds  of  letters,  done  up  in  bundles  and 
bound  with  broad  rubber  bands.  His  eyes  glis- 
tened. If  there  was  anything  in  a  man's  past 
his  letters  would  show  it.  But  how  would  he 
ever  go  through  this  mass  of  correspondence? 


Baillie  Makes  a  Discovery        169 

Then  there  suddenly  flashed  into  his  mind 
the  memory  of  his  first  disagreement  with 
Temple  on  the  day  the  latter  had  brought 
June  to  camp.  That  had  been  over  a  letter. 
Entering  Temple's  tent  he  had  picked  it  up, 
opened  it,  and  been  reprimanded  sharply.  He 
recalled  a  momentary  suspicion  at  the  time. 
Had  that  letter  contained  the  matter  he 
sought? 

Owing  to  the  circumstances  Baillie  remem- 
bered the  letter  clearly.  It  had  a  lavender 
envelope,  was  addressed  in  bright  blue  ink, 
with  a  large,  sprawling  handwriting,  and  had 
been  scented. 

Here  was  a  clue  and  a  plain  one.  Turning 
to  the  trunk,  he  looked  through  the  bundles 
of  letters,  pulled  from  their  places  those  with 
lavender  envelopes  addressed  in  bright  blue 
ink,  and  hurriedly  ran  through  them.  At  the 
third  he  sat  back  with  a  quick  catch  of  the 
breath. 

"PAUL:"  he  read. 

"No  I  shall  not  divorce  you.  You  can't 
fool  me  for  a  minute  with  your  talk  about  my 


170  Star  of  the  North 

'happiness.'  Everybody  knows  that  French 
is  crazy  about  you,  and  I  suppose  you  want  to 
get  rid  of  me  so  you  can  have  her.  Well, 
there's  nothing  doing.  I  have  suspected  you 
would  try  something  like  this  for  a  long  while, 
but  I  won't  stand  for  it.  I  am  starting  for 
your  camp  at  once.  Perhaps  you  will  like 
that,  you  and  French. 

'Your  wife, 

"GERTRUDE." 

Wife/ 

Baillie's  eyes  glittered  with  exultant  joy. 
He  hadn't  even  dared  hope  for  this.  The 
most  he  had  looked  for  had  been  a  suppressed 
scandal  or  evidence  of  a  sordid  relationship. 
But  a  wife  to  whom  his  rival  was  bound,  who 
had  killed  all  his  hopes  of  release  by  this  very 
letter  itself — if  he  had  prayed  he  couldn't 
have  asked  the  high  gods  for  more. 

"I've  got  him,  the  damned  swanker!"  he 
said  to  himself  savagely,  as  he  thrust  the 
letter  into  his  pocket.  "I'll  fix  him  now. 
And  may  be  this  won't  fix  me  right  with  June. 
May  be  not!" 


Baillie  Makes  a  Discovery        171 

Working  swiftly  he  rearranged  the  letters 
in  the  trunk  tray,  closed  the  trunk,  and  pushed 
it  back  into  its  place.  Then  smiling  trium- 
phantly, his  thirst  for  revenge  appeased,  he 
hobbled  to  his  bunk  and  lay  down. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

BAD  NEWS 

HPHE  morning  after  Baillie's  discovery  of 
Gertrude's  letter  Tom  Briscoe  came  to 
the  bunkhouse  while  the  men  were  dressing. 
He  himself  slept  in  his  office,  a  corner  of  the 
cabin  devoted  to  the  camp  management, 
where  he  kept  his  charts,  scenarios,  and  notes. 
He  was  always  up  and  at  work  at  the  first 
glimmer  of  dawn. 

This  morning  he  came  to  inquire  after 
Baillie's  injured  foot.  "Idyl"  was  nearing 
completion  and  had  reached  a  point  where 
nothing  more  could  be  done  until  certain  of 
Baillie's  lead  scenes  had  been  filmed. 

Baillie,  planning  to  slip  away  to  Fort  Mc- 
Leod  with  his  stolen  letter  when  the  companies 
had  gone  out  on  location,  shook  his  head 

despondently  when  Briscoe  inquired.     Might 

172 


Bad  News  173 

be  able  to  hobble  around  a  little,  he  said,  but 
wouldn't  be  able  to  work  that  day. 

"Mm!  Serious  as  that?"  Briscoe  was 
concerned.  "Well,  take  a  turn  up  and  down 
the  bunkhouse  and  let's  see." 

Baillie  limped  along  groaning  while  a  hastily 
organized  comb  band  added  gayety  to  the 
affair.  Back  and  forth  the  director  marched 
him,  observing  his  actions  as  if  he  were  a 
horse  for  sale.  For  some  minutes  the  inspec- 
tion went  on.  Then: 

"You'll  do,"  Briscoe  said,  shifting  his  dry 
cigar  from  one  corner  of  his  mouth  to  the 
other.  "Dress  for  work.  We'll  take  you 
to  and  from  location  on  the  sledge,  and  with 
that  you  ought  to  be  able  to  walk  through 
your  scenes.  Borrow  an  ankle  brace  if  you 
can  get  one." 

Briscoe's  order  rearranged  the  work  for  the 
day,  and  because  of  this  and  the  overcast  sky 
Temple  found  himself  idle  after  ten  o'clock. 
He  had  gone  out  to  finish  a  single-reel  thriller 
he  had  been  directing,  but  the  light  in  the 
necessary  location — a  snow-filled  ravine — was 


174  Star  of  the  North 

so  poor  that  Sherman,  the  camera  man,  gave 
up  in  despair.  The  day's  "Idyl"  scenes  not 
requiring  him,  Paul  found  himself  at  liberty. 

As  he  trudged  back  to  camp  on  snow-shoes 
an  intention  that  had  long  been  forming  in 
his  mind  hardened  into  resolution.  He  de- 
termined to  go  to  Fort  McLeod  and  see 
June.  By  the  clear  light  of  calm  and  detached 
reasoning,  he  knew  now  that  he  must  tell 
her  the  truth  about  himself  and  his  marriage. 
The  conviction  had  come  gradually  but  un- 
compromisingly. He  realized  that  for  him 
there  must  not  be  even  a  shadow's  shadow  of 
doubt  or  concealment,  or  the  whole  structure  of 
his  love  could  not  stand.  Moreover,  he  would 
not  accept  June's  love  under  false  colours.  If 
she  must  send  him  away,  ending  all  his  hopes 
and  dreams,  let  her  do  so  at  once,  before  she 
learned  to  care  too  much. 

It  was  easy  to  feel  all  this  now,  freed  as  he 
was  from  the  bewilderment  of  passion  and  the 
spell  of  her  nearness,  and  for  that  reason  Paul 
did  not  blame  himself  too  much  for  his  flight 
from  the  fort  that  day  of  their  last  interview. 


Bad  News  175 

That  hour  had  brought  the  seething  of  the 
crucible  which  had  precipitated  today's  cour- 
age and  knowledge. 

A  third  and  less  vital  reason  also  influenced 
him  to  his  decision.  He  knew  the  crisis  must 
be  met  sometime,  and  he  realized  that  the 
longer  he  put  it  off  the  more  difficult  it  would 
be  to  face. 

Releasing  his  company  of  minor  people  at 
camp,  Paul  turned  down  the  familiar  river 
trail.  But  it  was  not  familiar  now.  Under 
its  muffling  robe  of  snow  every  tree,  bush,  and 
withered  stalk  had  taken  on  a  new  identity. 
Spruces,  pines,  and  tamaracks  showed  delicate 
tracery-patterns  of  black  and  white — the 
work,  it  seemed,  of  fairy  fingers.  Over  all 
brooded  an  immense  stillness.  The  forest 
slept  stupefied  beneath  a  vast  quietude  which 
seemed  cosmic.  The  day  was  overcast,  and 
the  snow  crust  of  the  trail  formed  the  night 
before  had  not  melted,  so  that  a  blinding, 
grey  glare  radiated  from  the  polished  surface. 

At  his  left  flowed  the  bleak  river.  Leaden- 
coloured  ice,  patched  with  snow,  edged  a 


176  Star  of  the  North 

centre  channel  of  black  water.  Eventually, 
the  guides  said,  this  channel  would  freeze  also, 
and  the  Onipee  become  available  for  sledge 
travel,  a  thing  considered  hazardous  now. 
As  Paul  walked  he  faced  a  peculiarly  biting 
north  wind  which  clashed  and  creaked  the 
armoured  tree-limbs. 

Despite  the  unexplained  cessation  of  his 
visits  to  June,  Temple  now  went  to  see  her 
without  diffidence.  He  felt  that  between 
them  there  was  an  instinctive  understanding 
of  the  critical  state  of  their  relationship,  and 
that  she  would  construe  his  absence  as  bearing 
upon  that.  She  would  also  know,  he  thought, 
that  his  reappearance  must  predicate  some 
decision. 

But  as  the  trail  widened  to  enter  the  fort 
clearing,  the  old  fear  swept  over  Paul.  How 
would  she  receive  his  confession?  As  he 
hoped,  patiently  and  with  sweet  understand- 
ing? Or  bruskly,  harshly,  leaving  him  without 
hope  or  motive  in  life? 

The  trail  at  this  point  followed  the  crest 
of  the  bluff,  and  as  Paul  emerged  and  looked 


Bad  News  177 

down  at  the  river,  he  heard  a  merry  jingling 
of  bells,  the  excited  yapping  of  dogs,  and  the 
gay,  ringing  cries  of  a  woman.  An  instant 
later  round  a  bend  of  the  shore  ice  below  the 
fort,  swejDt  a  team  of  dogs  at  full  gallop, 
drawing  behind  them  a  light  cariole  in  which 
sat  June. 

At  sight  of  her  a  great  gladness  rushed 
over  him,  an  emotion  which  seemed  to  swell 
to  an  indescribable  exaltation.  The  next 
instant,  she  had  looked  up,  seen  him,  and 
waved  her  hand.  In  response  he  stumbled 
down  the  bluff  to  the  river's  edge  and  watched 
her  swift  flight. 

In  perfect  unison,  the  eight  huskies,  matched 
in  size  and  colour,  sped  up  and  down  the  river, 
swerving  to  right  and  left  at  her  sharp  com- 
mands, and  causing  the  pendent  fox-tails  on 
her  capote  to  stream  blithely  out  behind. 
Finally,  with  a  last  curving  sweep,  she  swung 
about,  drove  to  where  Paul  stood,  and  brought 
up  before  him  with  a  grand  flourish. 

"Merry  Christmas,  stranger!"  she  cried. 
"How  do  you  like  my  new  turn-out?" 


178  Star  of  the  North 

"Snow-Queen,  it's  immense!"  he  laughed, 
and  went  forward. 

The  dogs,  regarding  him  with  half-shut 
eyes,  sat  on  their  bushy  tails,  panting,  pink 
tongues  a-flicker.  He  could  see  now  that  the 
cariole  was  a  fancy  affair  of  polished  wood, 
with  a  curved  dash  and  luxurious  upholstery, 
a  winter  toy  for  a  very  princess. 

"Would  you  suspect  my  dear,  dour,  grey 
old  father  of  planning  this  for  me?"  she 
laughed.  "I  wouldn't  if  I  didn't  know  him 
so  well.  It  arrived  the  day  after  the  blizzard. 
An  Indian  at  Loon  Lake  worked  all  summer 
on  the  sledge,  and  they  matched  the  dogs  at 
Fort  Endicott.  And  all  for  me!  Imagine! 
I've  been  training  my  steeds  for  two  weeks, 
and  I  think  they  do  awfully  well,  don't  you?" 
She  pouted.  "But  no,  you  don't.  You 
haven't  said  a  word  about  anything,  and 

He  flung  up  both  hands  in  comic  despair 
at  her  breathless  loquacity. 

"That's  not  nice,"  she  reproved.  "As  if 
you  hadn't  had  a  chance  to  speak!" 

"I'm  struck  dumb!"  he  shouted,  and  she 


Bad  News  179 

gurgled  with  laughter.  ' '  And  now  that  you're 
helpless,"  he  went  on,  "permit  me  to  say  a 
few  brief  words  in  appreciation  of  what  I 
see  here  before  me,  and  to  scold  you  for 
racing  around  regardless,  on  half-formed 
ice." 

While  he  discoursed,  he  noticed  the  details 
of  her  dress.  She  was  furred  from  head  to 
foot  in  magnificent  silver  fox,  and  quite  un- 
ashamed of  fur  trousers  beneath  her  long 
coat.  Her  vivacious  face,  framed  by  the 
capote,  was  radiant  with  colour,  and  her  dark 
eyes  sparkled.  The  realization  of  her  abound- 
ing, glorious  vitality  came  home  to  him  afresh, 
as  did  the  fact  of  her  complete  harmony  with 
the  environment.  Just  as  when  he  had  met 
her  first  she  seemed  to  embody  the  spirit  of 
the  green,  wild  places,  so  now  she  symbolized 
the  soul  of  the  frozen  wilderness. 

"Oh,  pooh!"  she  said  naughtily,  as  he 
lectured  her,  and  leaping  out  of  the  cariole 
seized  his  arm.  "Just  for  that,  you've  got  to 
be  ridden  yourself!" 

"Not  alone  with  those  grinning  brutes," 


i8o  Star  of  the  North 

he  declared.  "They're  slavering  now  at  the 
thought  of  my  succulence." 

"Very  well,  then,  I'll  go  with  you."  She 
dragged  him  to  the  cariole,  and  somehow  they 
crowded  in  together. 

"Mush  on,  there!  Mush!"  she  cried,  and 
the  dogs  leaped  out  eagerly.  The  girl  had 
no  whip  or  other  means  of  control,  but  as  she 
shrilled  her  commands,  the  leaders  swung 
instantly  to  right  or  left,  taking  the  frail 
sledge  safely  around  the  inequalities  of  the 
wind-swept  ice,  and  with  the  speed  of  the 
wind. 

Temple's  eyes  filled  with  tears  from  the 
cutting  cold,  but  he  experienced  a  riotous 
exhilaration.  Catching  the  infection  of  her 
high  spirits  he  forgot  the  thing  he  had  come 
to  do  in  the  joyous  zest  of  being  alive,  and 
with  her. 

They  circled  back  and  came  to  rest  where 
he  had  left  his  snow-shoes. 

"Now,  Mr.  Righteous,"  she  challenged, 
"if  I'm  guilty,  so  are  you!  Shall  we  have 
tea?" 


Bad  News  181 

"Yes,"  he  asserted,  recklessly,  "let's  run 
the  whole  gamut  of  crime!" 

"Then  you  climb  the  bluff  to  the  house, 
and  I'll  meet  you  there,"  she  laughed.  "I 
have  to  drive  around  by  the  notch  in  the  bluff 
below  the  bend." 

Fifteen  minutes  later  they  were  in  the  low, 
trophy-hung  library,  chatting  and  basking  in 
the  heat  of  the  great  log-fire.  The  almost 
barbaric  profusion  of  fur  rugs  on  the  floor 
gave  a  sense  of  primitive  warmth  and  comfort 
which  was  heightened  by  the  massive  beams 
overhead,  and  the  small,  tight-set  windows. 
Glowing  and  tingling  with  the  frosty  air, 
their  spirits  matched  their  sense  of  gorgeous 
well-being.  Old  Maria,  the  house  servant, 
brought  tea,  and  in  response  to  that  peculiar 
craving  of  the  Northland  they  drank  cup  after 
cup  of  it. 

In  their  gay  talk  the  past  was  not  mentioned, 
nor  was  Temple's  long  absence  commented  on. 
Lightly,  inconsequently,  June  played  over 
the  surface  of  things  with  a  delicious  garru- 
lousness  that  stimulated  and  amused  him. 


1 82  Star  of  the  North' 

But  the  purpose  of  his  coming  was  constantly 
in  his  mind  now,  and  he  waited  the  indication 
of  a  veering  mood  which  would  give  him  the 
opportunity  to  broach  it. 

In  an  hour  he  felt  the  time  approaching 
and  nerved  himself  for  his  task.  But  sud- 
denly the  girl,  who  had  been  sitting  so  that 
she  half -faced  the  window,  sprang  up  with  a 
little  cry  of  astonishment  and  looked  out. 
Then  she  ran  to  the  window. 

"Why,  here's  Jim  Albert,  and  he's  alone," 
she  said,  her  voice  sharp  with  concern.  "I 
wonder  why  father  isn't  with  him?"  After  a 
moment's  anxious  scrutiny  she  turned  and 
ran  across  the  room  towards  the  door. 

Temple  had  risen  and  he,  too,  saw  the 
Indian.  Vaguely  alarmed  by  the  girl's  tone, 
he  followed  her  into  the  hall  and  to  the  front 
door.  They  reached  the  veranda  almost  as 
soon  as  Jim  Albert  did.  He  was  floundering 
heavily,  and  wore  what  the  others  could  see 
now  were  broken  snow-shoes.  His  dark  face 
was  gaunt,  and  his  eyes  seemed  unnaturally 
large.  He  carried  no  pack. 


Bad  News  183 

As  he  reached  the  steps,  he  seemed  to  see 
the  anxious  girl  for  the  first  time. 

"Factor  hurt.  I  come  on  alone.  Tea!" 
he  gasped,  and  staggered  on  up  the  steps  and 
past  them.  Through  the  door  he  went  and 
into  the  kitchen  where  he  collapsed  in  a  chair, 
half -dazed. 

June  who  had  grown  pale,  followed  him, 
and  said  a  few  sharp  sentences  in  Ojibway  to 
Maria.  Then  quietly,  quickly,  she  moved 
about,  doing  what  years  of  experience  had 
told  her  was  needful.  Temple,  without  a 
word,  knelt  before  the  Indian  and  wrestled 
with  the  knotted  snow-shoe  thongs  which 
were  frozen  as  hard  as  iron. 

Presently,  revived  by  basin  after  basin  of 
scalding  tea,  Jim  Albert  commenced  to  speak, 
jerking  out  guttural  sentences  piecemeal  in 
his  native  tongue.  June  listened  quietly, 
injecting  a  sharp  question  now  and  then. 
When  he  had  finished,  and  had  fallen  raven- 
ously upon  the  plate  of  food  Maria  had  brought 
him,  June  beckoned  Temple  and  led  him  into 
the  living  room. 


184  Star  of  the  North 

"Father  is  badly  hurt,"  she  said,  "and  I 
must  start  north  after  him  today.  You  can 
help  me  if  you  will.  Jim  will  be  able  to  go 
back  with  me  in  a  few  hours,  but  there  is 
much  to  be  done  before  that." 

"Only  command  me,"  he  begged.  "I  only 
hope  I  can  be  of  some  use.  Is  the  situation 
serious?" 

"Yes,  very.  A  week  ago  father  and  Jim 
started  south  from  Moose  Factory.  They 
counted  on  getting  back  here  before  snow 
came,  and  left  with  only  enough  grub  to  last 
a  quick  journey.  That  early  blizzard  caught 
them,  and  they  were  snowed  up  for  two  days. 
After  that,  they  had  to  leave  the  canoe,  and 
come  on  overland,  but  they  had  no  snow-shoes. 

"Half-way  down  Jim  broke  through  the  ice 
of  a  river  they  were  crossing,  and  they  lost 
half  their  grub.  Then  on  the  edge  of  a  ravine, 
father  went  down  with  some  loose  snow  and 
broke  his  leg.  Jim  dragged  him  to  a  de- 
serted trapper's  hut,  half  a  day's  journey 
farther  on,  and  left  him  there  with  what  grub 
there  was.  That's  where  he  found  those 


Bad  News  185 

broken  snow-shoes.  He  came  on  here.  We've 
got  to  start  back  today.  Oh,  poor  father!" 
Her  grief  and  anxiety  mastered  her  for  a 
moment,  but  she  quickly  regained  control. 

"  But  can  Jim  go  back  so  quickly?  "  Temple 
asked.  "Let  me  go  down  to  camp  and  get 
one  of  our  men." 

"No.  Your  man  wouldn't  know  the  trail. 
Jim  can  do  it,  I  think.  Scarcely  a  winter 
passes  but  these  Indians  go  through  some 
experience  like  this.  He'll  be  ready." 

Paul  said  no  more,  and  for  the  next  two 
hours  they  worked  fast,  loading  the  travelling 
sledge  that  lay  ready  in  the  storehouse.  To 
his  relief  Temple  found  that  all  he  had  learned 
at  camp  for  use  in  the  "Idyl"  now  stood  him 
in  good  stead.  His  diamond  hitches  of  the 
lashings  across  the  completed  load  won  even 
June's  praise. 

Under  the  circumstances,  to  discuss  the 
thing  for  which  he  had  come  to  Fort  McLeod 
was  impossible.  He  put  the  thought  of  it 
from  his  mind  and  bent  all  his  energies  upon 
his  work.  By  three  o'clock  the  sledge  was 


1 86  Star  of  the  North 

ready,  and  with  the  eight  splendid  dogs 
whining  eagerly  in  the  traces,  and  Jim  mar- 
vellously recuperated  at  the  gee-pole,  June 
held  out  her  hand  to  him  in  good-bye. 

"You  have  helped  me  again  when  I  needed 
you  most,"  she  said  with  deep  feeling.  "I 
wonder  if  I  ever — ever  will  be  able  to  repay 
you?" 

He  took  her  cold  fingers  between  both  his 
bare  hands,  and  searched  deep  in  her  eyes. 
For  a  long  moment  they  stood  thus,  and  what 
he  saw  in  those  revealing  depths  made  him 
thrill  as  he  had  never  thrilled  before. 
<  "You  have  repaid  me  now,"  he  said  un- 
steadily, battling  with  a  great  desire  to  take 
her  in  his  arms. 

"No,  not  yet,"  she  replied,  and  released  her 
hand. 

Jim  Albert  shouted  to  the  dogs,  they 
strained  to  the  first  effort,  the  sledge  creaked 
as  it  left  its  tracks,  and  then  moved  across 
the  clearing  with  increased  speed.  From 
the  edge  of  the  woods  June  turned  to  wave 
a  last  farewell.  Paul  replied  to  it,  and 


Bad  News  187 

the  next  moment  the  forest  had  closed  behind 
her. 

All  that  day  Jack  Baillie  had  found  that  his 
injured  foot  was  rapidly  improving.  In  fact, 
so  swift  was  its  recovery  that  he  declared  that 
he  would  gladly  walk  home  that  night  in  order 
to  spare  the  dogs.  The  location  being  but  a 
short  distance  from  Fort  McLeod,  the  thought 
had  occurred  to  stop  there  with  his  letter  on 
the  way  back  to  camp. 

He  arrived  at  sundown  to  find  the  fort 
gloomy  and  deserted  except  for  Maria  and  her 
husband,  a  decrepit  brave  who  performed  the 
chores  about  the  place.  When  he  learned 
that  June  was  gone  indefinitely,  his  fury  was 
epic.  And  the  prospect  of  the  cold  two-mile 
tramp  home  along  the  river  trail  did  not  add 
in  the  slightest  degree  to  his  good  humour. 


CHAPTER  XV 

REALIZATION 

HPHE  route  that  Jim  Albert  took  to  the 
deserted  trapper's  hut,  where  Fleming 
Magregor  lay,  was  as  direct  as  the  crow  flies ; 
steadily  north  and  a  little  east.  He  travelled 
without  trail  and  without  compass,  following 
an  instinct  as  sure  as  that  of  a  homing  pigeon. 
Gaunt  and  haggard,  but  mute  and  uncom- 
plaining, he  plodded  on,  knowing  only  that 
his  factor  needed  him,  and  that  June  depended 
on  him. 

The  country  they  traversed  was  virgin 
forest  land.  Here  and  there  on  a  tree  could 
be  seen  the  mark  of  a  timber  cruiser's  axe,  but 
as  yet  no  cutting  had  been  done  in  the  district. 
Douglas  spruce,  and  larch,  rose  tall  and 
straight,  their  branches  feathery  against  a 
cold  sky.  The  graceful,  naked  birches  shiv- 
ered in  the  biting  wind. 

188 


Realization  189 

The  going  was  rough.  It  lay  between  hills, 
across  frozen  trout  streams,  down  gullies 
and  along  ravines.  Regularly  the  travellers 
changed  places,  whichever  was  trudging 
ahead  to  break  a  trail  for  the  dogs,  falling 
back  to  handle  the  gee-pole,  and  vice  versa. 

Sometimes  on  level  stretches  or  on  the  solid 
ice  of  a  stream,  June  or  Albert  rode,  and  some- 
times both;  while  on  downhill  work  they 
wrestled  desperately  with  the  swooping,  skid- 
ding sledge,  June  behind  at  a  tail  rope,  and 
Albert  ahead  at  the  gee-pole.  The  dogs,  well- 
fed,  fresh,  and  eager,  worked  hard.  With 
heads  low,  tails  high,  and  pink  tongues  flicker- 
ing, they  strained  to  the  task  that  was  at  once 
their  joy  and  pride.  They  seemed  to  relish 
this  test  of  their  mettle,  after  whisking  June's 
light  cariole  about. 

At  last  when  the  early  sunset  showed  lemon- 
coloured  between  the  silhouetted  trees,  June 
ordered  a  halt  for  the  night.  She  knew  to 
the  ounce  what  to  ask  of  Jim  Albert,  and  she 
knew  that  she  had  asked  it  today.  That  he 
would  go  on  at  her  command  until  he  dropped, 


Star  of  the  North 

past  experience  had  taught  her.  But  she 
saw  beyond  this  day's  travel,  great  though 
her  anxiety  and  her  father's  need  were.  Dur- 
ing the  next  few  days  there  might  be  greater 
demands  on  them  both,  and  it  was  then  that 
they  must  be  ready. 

They  selected  for  their  camp  a  spot  under- 
neath the  high  north  bank  of  a  little  stream,  a 
spot  so  sheltered  that  but  an  inch  or  two  of 
snow  had  drifted  in  during  the  recent  blizzard. 
June  helped  Jim  unharness  the  dogs,  and,  as 
always  after  a  day's  travel,  examined  the  pads 
of  their  feet  for  cuts  or  bruises.  Then,  while 
she  unlashed  the  sledge  load,  Jim  chopped  a 
hole  in  the  ice  of  the  stream  for  the  dogs  to 
drink,  and  set  about  gathering  sufficient  wood 
for  that  night  and  the  following  morning. 

Next,  June  cleared  a  place  for  the  fire  and 
unpacked  the  lighter  supplies,  grub,  utensils, 
and  blankets.  The  pitching  of  the  tent  she 
left  to  Jim  Albert.  Unquestioningly  she 
shared  the  common  labour,  for  now  they  were 
beyond  the  pale  of  race  or  caste.  Though 
they  did  not  know  it,  they  represented  the 


Realization  191 

inconceivable  bravery  of  the  human  soul. 
Together  and  alone,  surrounded  by  the  pitiless 
desolation,  they  dared  nature's  forces  which, 
should  they  make  one  slip,  stood  ready  to 
crush  them.  On  every  hand,  inimitably,  it 
seemed,  stretched  the  wilderness.  In  it  there 
was  no  help,  no  hope;  from  it  no  appeal.  Life 
here  was  stripped  to  its  lowest  terms;  to 
terms  of  food  and  warmth,  to  the  one  primal 
need  of  keeping  the  spark  of  life  burning. 

With  the  camp-fire  crackling  cheerfully 
Jim  Albert  thawed  out  the  frozen,  dried  fish  he 
had  brought  for  the  dogs,  and  gave  them  their 
one  daily  meal.  When  they  had  finished, 
the  animals  made  their  own  beds,  digging 
warm  nests  in  the  snow-drifts  along  the 
bank. 

June  had  brought  the  tent  for  the  sake  of 
privacy  rather  than  for  any  added  warmth  it 
would  give  her.  The  really  severe  weather 
of  the  winter  had  not  yet  come,  and  she  would 
have  been  perfectly  comfortable  curled  up 
beside  the  fire  in  her  sleeping-bag,  like  Jim 

Albert.     But  now  she  emphasized  their  differ- 
13 


192  Star  of  the  North 

ence  in  caste  as  well  as  sex,  for  the  factor's 
daughter  is  the  true  princess  of  the  North. 

Together  they  cooked  supper  and  ate  it. 
They  talked  little  and  then  only  about  the 
disaster  that  had  sent  them  on  this  journey. 
Jim  washed  the  dishes  in  the  remainder  of 
the  warm  melted  snow  water,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  June  withdrew  to  her  tent.  Jim 
prepared  for  the  night,  and  in  half  an  hour, 
except  for  the  glow  of  the  fire  and  the  motion- 
less figure  of  the  Indian  beside  it,  there  was 
no  sign  of  life  in  the  little  camp.  It  was  as  if 
it  had  been  absorbed  into  the  immensity  of 
the  universal  stillness. 

The  first  crack  of  dawn  found  the  Indian 
stirring,  almost  recovered  from  his  hardship 
of  the  previous  day.  Breakfast  was  ready 
when  June  appeared,  and  they  ate  heartily. 
Then,  loading  the  sledge  with  the  skill  of  long 
practice  they  set  out  again,  plodding  doggedly 
into  the  trackless  wastes,  just  as  the  sun  rose 
full-globed  above  the  south-east  horizon. 

For  almost  three  days  this  was  their  exist- 
ence, an  existence  of  few  words  and  great 


Realization  193 

effort,  wrought  out  under  a  vast  silence  and 
in  inconceivable  loneliness.  The  creak  of  the 
sledge,  the  commands  to  the  dogs,  the  white 
vapour  of  their  breath,  these  were  the  tokens 
of  animate  things  moving  in  a  vast  region  of 
death. 

But  though  they  spoke  little,  June  thought 
much.  Fear  for  her  father  haunted  her,  but 
with  the  patient  endurance,  almost  fatalism, 
that  her  environment  had  imposed  upon  her, 
she  purposely  turned  her  mind  to  other  things. 

Oftenest  she  thought  of  Temple,  of  Baillie, 
and  of  the  strange  events  that  had  so  recently 
entered  her  life  to  change  and  influence  it. 
The  farther  she  went  from  the  scene  of  it  all, 
the  clearer,  more  detached,  became  her  point 
of  view.  It  was  as  if  she  had  climbed  some 
mountain  and  viewed  things  at  last  in  their 
true  perspective. 

She  had  passed  through  much  since  that 
night  of  dread  and  terror  on  the  island.  Her 
first  emotions  had  concerned  her  realization  of 
Baillie's  utter  unworthiness.  That  final  disil- 
lusionment and  wreck  of  her  girlish  romance 


194  Star  of  the  North 

had  been  a  bitter  experience.  With  her  ideal 
had  gone  for  a  while  faith  in  life,  in  human- 
kind, in  everything.  This  was  the  phase  she 
had  been  passing  through  the  day  Briscoe 
came  to  her  with  his  offer  of  patronage. 

Then  in  the  midst  of  her  overwhelming  de- 
pression had  come  the  memory  of  Temple, 
and  of  what  he  had  brought  into  her  life  com- 
pared with  Baillie.  Brave,  steadfast,  quiet, 
always  equal  to  the  occasion,  ringing  true  as 
pure  metal,  he  had  come  gradually  to  repre- 
sent (to  her)  the  one  refutation  of  humanity's 
baseness  as  typified  by  Baillie.  He  became 
her  anchor  to  windward,  the  unassailable  evi- 
dence of  fine,  true  things.  He  saved  her  from 
bitter  cynicism  and  a  distorted  image  of  life. 

At  this  period  her  strongest  feeling  for 
Temple  had  been  one  of  gratitude,  a  gratitude 
which  she  had  tried  vainly  to  express  that  day 
at  the  Fort.  His  startling  reply  to  this  effort, 
in  abruptly  leaving  her,  had  bewildered  and 
hurt  her  a  little,  but  though  she  did  not  under- 
stand it,  she  did  not  waver  in  her  allegiance 
to  him. 


Realization  195 

That  he  loved  her  she  knew.  Not  only 
had  he  told  her  so,  but  his  every  look  and 
deed  proved  it.  This  being  so,  and  he  being 
what  he  was,  this  action  must  have  had  its 
good  and  sufficient  reason,  she  felt.  His  sub- 
sequent long  absence  had  given  her  time  for 
meditation  and  for  the  final  clarifying  of  her 
feelings.  Just  as  with  Temple,  it  had  wit- 
nessed the  realization  of  an  approaching 
crisis  in  their  relations. 

This  came  in  a  strange  guise.  As  day  after 
day  went  by  and  she  did  not  see  Paul,  she  fell 
to  dreaming  of  him.  Alone  at  the  Fort,  she 
built  for  herself  a  world  peopled  only  by 
themselves.  She  re-lived  in  imagination  many 
of  the  things  they  had  done  together,  recalled 
their  talks,  grave  and  gay.  And  gradually, 
as  if  he  had  been  an  essence,  he  commenced  to 
permeate  her  life,  to  take  possession  of  it. 
No  waking  or  sleeping  thought  was  free  from 
his  influence. 

And  because  she  had  progressed  from  a 
girlish  worship  of  his  physical  prowess  to  a 
woman's  consciousness  of  his  splendour  in 


196  Star  of  the  North 

deeper  things,  a  new  glory  that  was  inexpressi- 
ble came  to  surround  him.  The  knowledge 
came  at  last  that  she  loved  him,  and  alone 
there  she  had  gloried  in  it,  singing  and  laugh- 
ing through  days  of  ecstasy  when  life  had 
seemed  too  poignantly  perfect  to  be  true. 
He  had  found  her  in  such  a  mood  that  morning 
of  the  ride  upon  the  river  ice. 

Now,  trudging  along  unbroken  trails  in  the 
teeth  of  a  cruel  wind,  every  step  taking  her 
farther  and  farther  from  Paul,  her  heart  cried 
out  for  him  in  this  time  of  trouble.  She 
longed  to  lean  upon  his  calm,  efficient  strength 
— she  who  had  never  leaned  on  anybody — 
and  to  hear  his  words  of  comfort  and  courage. 

But  since  that  could  not  be,  she  found 
solace  in  the  thought  of  that  moment  of  fare- 
well at  the  Fort.  The  memory  of  it  quickened 
her  with  a  strange,  wild  gladness,  a  delicious 
confusion.  Then,  as  never  before,  she  had 
felt  the  pull  of  that  mighty  hidden  current  of 
passion  in  Temple's  nature.  Compared  with 
it  the  magnetism  that  Baillie  had  exerted  upon 
her  was  as  nothing.  By  its  very  suggestion  of 


Realization  197 

undreamed  depths  it  made  her  quiver  with 
strange  instinctive  urgencies  she  dared  not 
analyse. 

And  at  such  moments  as  these  she  saw 
clearly  and  finally  the  difference  between  her 
former  feeling  for  Baillie  and  the  one  she  now 
held  for  Paul.  The  first  had  been  infatuation ; 
hectic,  opalescent — of  tinsel  and  froth;  this 
was  love:  deep,  irresistible,  permanent.  The 
one  was  of  the  flesh,  merely;  the  other  a  har- 
mony of  flesh,  mind,  and  spirit,  that  trinity 
of  life  all  parts  of  which  are  equal  in  holiness 
and  beauty. 

Bent  forward  against  the  wind,  dog-weary 
after  the  frozen  miles,  she  thought  of  these 
things;  and  the  grim,  waiting  wilderness,  the 
cold,  the  hunger,  and  the  bodily  fatigue,  be- 
came as  nothing.  The  world  seemed  a  place 
warm  and  beautiful,  and  coloured  with  the 
glow  of  unspeakable  dreams. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ON  THE  WINGS  OF  THE  STORM 

[T  was  almost  four  o'clock  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  third  day  that  Jim  Albert  broke 
through  an  alder  and  hazel  thicket,  and  came 
out  upon  the  sloping  shore  of  a  little  lake. 
One  swift  glance  and  he  gave  a  grunt  of  satis- 
faction. A  moment  later  when  June  and  the 
dogs  reached  him,  he  pointed  silently  across  it. 
On  the  opposite  shore,  half  a  mile  away,  stood 
a  small  log  cabin. 

The  girl  through  the  fog  of  her  weariness 
drew  a  quick  breath. 

"You  left  him  there?"  she  asked,  and 
searched  uneasily  for  the  plume  of  wood- 
smoke  from  the  distant  chimney  that  would 
tell  of  life  within. 

The  Indian  nodded.     Then  he  pointed  to 

the  sledge. 

198 


On  the  Wings  of  the  Storm      199 

"Missy  ride;  maybe  Jim  ride  too." 

With  the  deliberate  movements  of  complete 
exhaustion,  the  girl  walked  to  the  sledge  and 
sank  down  on  the  duffle  bag.  Then  because 
the  wind-swept  ice  offered  excellent  surface, 
Jim  followed  her  example,  and  mushed  on  the 
dogs.  They  responded  well,  but  not  with  the 
fire  of  three  days  before. 

The  whole  party  showed  the  effects  of  their 
effort.  On  the  trail  by  sunup  daily,  and 
travelling  until  after  dark,  each  hour  and 
minute  had  been  a  constant  effort  for  speed, 
more  speed,  in  their  race  against  time.  Jim 
Albert,  in  poor  condition  when  the  trip 
started,  was  constantly  at  the  limit  of  his 
strength,  and  June,  though  always  physically 
fit,  had  begun  to  fail  under  the  sudden  ab- 
normal demand. 

The  huskies,  as  if  sensing  the  end  of  the 
journey,  bent  to  the  work,  and  swinging  wide 
to  Jim's  "gee"  and  "haw"  snaked  the  sledge 
across  the  lake  at  a  lope.  The  girl  with 
constantly  growing  anxiety  searched  the  clear 
air  for  the  welcome  smoke  trail  as  they  drew 


200  Star  of  the  North 

near  the  northern  shore,  but  there  was  no 
trace  of  it. 

"You  left  father  plenty  of  wood  and 
matches?"  she  asked  the  Indian. 

"Yes.  After  we  fix  him  leg  I  cut  heap 
wood.  Pile  um  by  bunk." 

With  a  merry  jingle  of  harness  bells  the 
dogs  took  the  sloping  bank  with  a  rush  and 
came  to  rest  at  the  top  panting  and  steaming. 
June  leaped  off  the  sledge  and  hurried  to  the 
cabin.  The  heavy  door  of  half  logs  was  shut, 
and  the  small-paned  windows  covered  thickly 
with  hoar  frost.  The  latter  fact  frightened  the 
girl,  for  it  meant  that  there  was  little  if  any 
heat  inside.  She  pushed  open  the  door  and 
went  in.  The  air  was  deadly  chill. 

The  hut  consisted  of  one  room  almost 
square  and  about  eighteen  by  fifteen  feet  in 
size.  In  the  centre  stood  a  small,  pot-bellied 
iron  stove  red  with  rust,  the  sheet-tin  stove, 
pipe  of  which  pierced  a  ceiling  of  loose  poles 
and  a  roof  of  slabs.  On  the  floor  to  the 
right  were  a  few  sticks  of  wood  and,  within 
hand-reach  a  rude  bunk  made  of  caribou 


On  the  Wings  of  the  Storm      201 

skin  stretched  on  a  framework  of  birch 
poles. 

Here  June  found  her  father,  wrapped  in 
sleeping-robes  and  blankets,  and,  to  judge  by 
his  quick  breathing,  apparently  asleep.  She 
went  towards  him  eagerly,  but,  with  the  quick 
precaution  of  her  training,  laid  her  hand  upon 
the  stove  even  as  she  knelt  beside  him.  Its 
faint  warmth  told  her  that  the  fire  had  not 
been  dead  long,  and  that  they  had  arrived 
just  in  time.  Another  twelve  hours  would 
have  made  their  trip  in  vain. 

Quickly,  practically,  she  appraised  her 
father's  condition.  He  was  sleeping  heavily 
but  unnaturally.  A  bright  spot  of  fever 
burned  in  each  cheek  and  he  muttered  in  de- 
lirium. She  knew  that  he  lay  in  the  fever 
coma  that  was  the  result  of  his  injury  and 
the  exposure  that  had  followed  it. 

Stepping  to  the  door  she  called  Jim  and 
together  they  set  about  the  urgent  work  of 
fire-making,  their  fatigue  forgotten  in  the  joy 
of  their  success.  As  June  worked,  she  took 
in  other  details  of  her  surroundings.  It  was 


202  Star  of  the  North 

obvious,  as  Jim  had  said,  that  the  cabin  was 
a  deserted  trapper's  hut.  Visible  chinks  in 
the  log  walls  and  a  puddle  of  melted  snow 
water  on  the  floor,  which  told  of  a  leaky  roof, 
testified  to  its  dilapidation.  The  wind  whis- 
tled mournfully  through  these  apertures. 
Fleming  Magregor's  was  the  only  bunk.  In 
one  corner  was  an  old  provision  box,  and  in 
another  a  rusted  trap,  broken  beyond  all  hope 
of  repair.  The  dead  weeds  of  the  previous 
summer  still  clung  to  the  earthen  floor. 

Here  indeed  was  work  to  be  done,  and  when 
the  little  round  stove  was  roaring,  and  the 
stovepipe  crackling  with  new  heat,  they 
plunged  into  it.  As  fire  was  the  first  necessity, 
food  was  the  second.  June  found  on  top  of 
the  stove  the  empty  tin  dishes  that  had  held 
her  father's  meagre  rations,  and  tears  filled 
her  eyes  at  their  pitiful,  mute  testimony  to 
his  long  days  of  hunger.  With  anxious  haste 
she  melted  snow  in  a  saucepan  and  com- 
menced the  preparation  of  a  broth. 

When  it  was  ready  she  succeeded,  with  Jim 
Albert's  help,  in  getting  the  sick  man  to  drink 


On  the  Wings  of  the  Storm      203 

a  little  of  it.  The  scalding  stuff  gradually 
brought  him  back  to  consciousness,  and  he 
recognized  June  and  the  Indian.  Then  after 
taking  the  medicines  June  had  brought,  he 
sank  back  to  sleep  refreshed,  and  with  the 
knowledge  that  all  was  well. 

But  the  girl,  with  life-long  experience  of 
wilderness  accidents,  knew  that  it  would  be 
two  or  three  days  before  he  would  be  entirely 
rational  again. 

The  simple  camp  arrangements  were  quickly 
made.  June  piled  her  usual  mattress  of  pine 
boughs  on  the  floor  by  the  stove  and  prepared 
to  stay  by  her  father's  side.  She  gave  the 
tent  to  Jim  Albert  and  he  made  a  snug  bivouac 
in  the  lee  of  the  lake  shore,  though  expecting 
to  cook  the  meals  for  the  camp  and  eat  with 
the  others  in  the  cabin. 

That  first  night  and  all  the  next  day  the 
two  stood  alternate  four-hour  watches  beside 
the  sick  man.  So  great  was  their  fatigue 
after  the  race  north,  that  they  dropped  asleep 
the  minute  they  were  relieved.  But  despite 
this  they  gradually  repaired  the  cabin,  so  that 


204  Star  of  the  North 

by  the  second  day  it  was  a  clean,  wind-stopped 
habitation. 

"When  take  um  factor  south?"  inquired 
Jim,  as  he  boiled  the  tea  that  noon. 

"Not  yet,"  June  told  him.  "He  isn't 
strong  enough  to  be  moved  yet." 

Albert  grunted  and  held  up  the  thumb  of 
his  right  hand. 

"Snow,"  he  said  laconically. 

June  looked  thoughtful.  Jim's  aching 
rheumatic  thumb  infallibly  forecasted  bad 
weather,  and  she  knew  there  would  be  snow 
within  forty-eight  hours.  Could  they  risk 
the  delay?  She  estimated  their  resources 
carefully.  With  the  ordinary  blizzard  of  this 
time  of  year,  and  allowing  an  extra  day  for 
the  journey  south,  she  felt  they  would  be  safe, 
though  their  margin  for  emergencies  would  be 
small.  But  against  this  she  set  the  incalcul- 
able benefit  to  her  father  of  the  added  days  of 
rest  and  nursing,  and  she  decided  to  remain. 

Next  morning  they  made  their  final  pre- 
parations. Jim  chopped  quantities  of  wood, 
guyed  the  faithful  but  declining  stovepipe 


On  the  Wings  of  the  Storm      205 

with  moose  gut  from  an  old  snow-shoe,  and 
reinforced  the  chinks  between  the  logs.  Late 
that  afternoon  the  temperature  rose  ten 
degrees,  a  black,  ugly-looking  mass  of  clouds 
drove  down  from  the  north  on  a  howling  gale, 
and  the  snow  began. 

At  dinner  the  Indian  came  in  breathless, 
his  dark  face  wet  with  melted  flakes. 

"By  Gar,  a  bad  one, ' '  he  said .  ' '  You  no  go 
out  tonight,  missy.  No  can  see,  no  can  hear. 
One  blow  of  wind  and  pouf !  you  gone.  Dogs 
dig  in  ver'  deep  tonight." 

At  seven  o'clock  he  went,  not  to  return 
until  morning,  June  having  refused  his  offer 
to  share  watches  with  her  that  night.  When 
he  had  gone  she  placed  the  two  candles  which 
lighted  the  cabin  on  a  stump,  and  draw- 
ing the  provision  box  close  to  the  stove,  sat 
down  to  mend  her  father's  clothes  which 
had  been  damaged  on  the  disastrous  trip 
south. 

About  her  was  the  constant  clamour  of 
the  storm,  the  trembling  and  creaking  of  the 
cabin,  the  clicking  of  icy  flakes  against  the  win- 


206  Star  of  the  North 

dows,  and  the  roaring  diapason  of  the  forest 
as  the  wind  swept  through  it. 

And  in  her  solitude  she  thought  of  Temple. 
What  was  he  doing  now,  she  wondered.  How 
much  longer  would  he  remain  in  the  North? 
He  had  told  her  that  the  Graphics  had  almost 
finished  their  work,  and  she  wondered  what 
the  completion  of  it  would  bring  to  them  both. 
The  thought  brought  home  to  her  more  sharply 
than  ever  before  the  contrast  between  their 
lives,  and  she  tried  to  visualize  the  existence 
to  which  he  would  return. 

The  high  lights  of  that  existence  she  knew 
from  Baillie's  glowing  description  of  it,  but 
now  she  found  that  she  could  not  orientate 
Paul  clearly  in  its  setting,  and  she  realized 
with  a  little  shock  of  surprise  how  really  little 
she  knew  about  him. 

Would  he  resume  a  gay,  butterfly  life  such 
as  Baillie  had  used  so  often  to  dazzle  her 
ignorant  eyes?  Where  did  he  live?  Who 
were  his  friends?  He  had  told  her  none  of 
these  things,  except  in  a  general  way  on  the 
first  day  of  their  meeting,  and  she  tried  to 


On  the  Wings  of  the  Storm      207 

imagine  them.  The  result  was  a  glorified 
picture  of  him  moving  commandingly  amid 
a  world  of  splendour. 

Against  this  picture  her  own  equipment  for 
the  world  seemed  petty,  childish,  worthless. 
Even  though  he  did  love  her,  she  thought 
mournfully,  could  she  ever  hope  to  keep 
his  love  among  the  glorious,  radiant  crea- 
tures who,  she  was  sure,  inhabited  his  uni- 
verse? 

The  storm  without  raged  in  a  sudden  spasm 
of  fury,  shaking  the  flimsy  hut  as  if  it  were  a 
toy  in  the  hand  of  a  giant.  The  tiny  rataplan 
of  the  snow  increased  to  a  frenzied  drumming 
and  the  forest  shouted  its  tumult.  Then 
suddenly  there  came  a  lull  of  almost  absolute 
stillness  when,  to  June,  the  sputter  of  a  candle 
sounded  loudly. 

And  in  that  moment  there  sounded  a  feeble 
tapping  at  the  door  and  a  faint  moan.  Startled, 
June  straightened  up.  Then  she  smiled  with 
relief.  Probably  one  of  the  dogs,  unable  to 
find  shelter  from  the  wind,  was  pleading  to 
be  taken  into  the  cabin.  The  girl  had  just 


2o8  Star  of  the  North 

resumed  her  sewing  when  the  sounds  came 
again,  louder  this  time. 

Puzzled  and  a  little  alarmed,  the  girl  rose 
and  put  down  her  work.  Dogs  did  not  whine 
like  that.  Crossing  the  room  she  raised  the 
stick  of  wood  that  barred  the  door  and  swung 
it  open,  only  to  start  back  in  amazement. 
The  next  instant  a  human  figure  swayed 
towards  her,  and  she  threw  her  arms  out  just 
in  time  to  catch  it  as  it  fell.  The  storm, 
sweeping  down  again  with  renewed  fury,  drew 
a  great  draft  of  air  out  into  the  night,  and 
extinguished  one  of  the  flickering  candles. 
In  the  darkness  June  dragged  her  burden 
inside,  shut  the  door  again  and  barred  it. 

Relighting  the  candle  she  returned  to  the 
prostrate  figure  which  she  discovered  now, 
was  that  of  a  woman.  Turning  the  stranger 
over  she  saw  framed  in  the  capote  of  the  rich 
furs,  an  unconscious  face,  pinched  and  blue 
with  cold  and  exhaustion.  A  hasty  examina- 
tion revealed  a  white  patch  of  frostbite  on 
one  cheek,  but  the  hands,  when  she  had  drawn 
off  the  gloves,  were  unscathed. 


On  the  Wings  of  the  Storm      209 

Yet  those  hands  fascinated  June.  White 
and  delicate,  obviously  unused  to  the  toil  of 
their  environment,  the  fingers  were  loaded 
with  rings  whose  gems  glittered  in  the  dim 
candle  light. 

For  an  instant  the  girl  sat  dazed  before  an 
absolutely  insoluble  problem.  That  anyone 
should  have  reached  the  cabin,  one  tiny  dot 
in  an  illimitable  wilderness,  on  a  night  like 
this,  was  miracle  enough ;  but  that  it  should  be 
a  woman,  and  one  patently  alien  to  her  sur- 
roundings, almost  partook  of  the  supernatural. 
Who  was  this  stranger,  and  whence  had  she 
come? 

After  the  first  moment  of  inaction,  June 
recovered  herself  and  set  about  restoring  the 
other.  Leaving  her  on  the  floor,  she  got  a 
basin  of  tea  from  the  saucepanful  which 
constantly  simmered  on  top  of  the  stove,  and 
forced  some  of  it  down  the  stranger's  throat. 
Then  she  commenced  gently  to  strip  off  the 
other's  furs. 

These  in  their  quality  and  completeness, 
astonished  the  girl.  Evidently  their  owner 


210  Star  of  the  North 

knew  how  to  dress  for  the  northern  winter. 
Beneath  the  furs  she  found  a  beautifully  made 
suit  of  rich  material. 

Chafing  the  helpless  woman's  hands,  and 
forcing  her  to  drink  more  hot  tea  from  time 
to  time,  she  applied  the  only  restoratives  she 
knew.  Finally  there  was  a  convulsive  gasp, 
a  heaving  of  the  chest,  and  the  eyelids  flut- 
tered. A  moment  later  they  opened  wide 
and  stared  unseeingly  up  at  the  pole  ceiling. 

"There!"  said  June.  "I  guess  you're  all 
right  now.  Drink  some  of  this,"  and  again 
she  offered  the  tea. 

The  stranger,  as  if  roused  by  the  sound  of 
the  human  voice,  turned  her  head  and  looked 
at  June  with  blue  eyes  in  which  the  light  of 
reason  was  rapidly  dawning. 

"Who — wha — where  am  I  ?  "  she  said  faintly 
after  a  prolonged  scrutiny. 

"You're  in  a  cabin  on  Loon  Lake,"  June 
told  her.  ' '  I  found  you  outside  fifteen  minutes 
ago.  You  were  out  in  the  storm  but  you 
fainted  when  I  opened  the  door." 

"Ah —    Oh,  I  remember  now.  The 


On  the  Wings  of  the  Storm      211 

storm.  I  saw  your  light  ...  I  thought  I'd 
never  make  it . "  Her  imperious  brows  contract- 
ed suddenly  and  a  look  of  annoyance  crossed 
her  face.  "Why  didn't  you  come  sooner?" 
she  demanded  with  a  flash  of  irritation.  "I 
thought  I'd  die  out  there.  I  almost  did." 

June  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  This 
was  not  the  spirit  of  the  North. 

"I  came  as  soon  as  I  could,"  she  explained, 
"and  of  course  I  understand  how  you  felt. 
But  tell  me — if  you  don't  mind  my  asking — 
where  have  you  come  from,  how  on  earth  do 
you  happen  to  be  here?  I  had  no  idea  there 
was  anyone  within  a  hundred  miles  of  us." 

"You  didn't!"  It  was  the  other's  turn 
to  be  astonished.  "I  thought  everybody 
knew  about  us.  I'm  Gertrude  Mackay  of 
Al  Bergman's  Stellar  Film  Company,  and 
we're  up  here  doing  a  big  piece.  Our  camp's 
on  an  arm  of  Loon  Lake  and  I  was  takin' 
a  look  around  when  that  damn  blizzard  came 
up.  I  was  tryin'  to  find  my  way  back  when 
I  saw  your  light  and  just  made  it  before  I 
keeled  over." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

CONFLICT 

TUNE  MAGREGOR  looked  with  new  in- 
terest  upon  the  incongruous  visitor  the 
storm  had  brought  fainting  to  that  lonely 
cabin  on  Loon  Lake.  Miss  Mackay  sat  on 
the  floor  drinking  hot  tea  and  recovering  her 
strength. 

"You  belong  to  a  moving  picture  com- 
pany?" asked  June,  astonished  and  at  the 
same  time  glad  to  have  reached  common 
ground  so  soon.  She  set  before  the  other  a 
plate  of  food  she  had  hastily  prepared. 

"Yes;  Al  Bergman's  Stellar  Films,  the 
greatest  in  the  business.  And  say,  this  big 
piece  we're  doing  up  here,  'The  Madgalene 
of  the  Snows'  will  knock  'em  cold  when  it's 
released."  Suddenly  Miss  Mackay  set  her 
tin  cup  down  beside  her  with  a  grimace,  and 

212 


Conflict  213 

felt  curiously  of  her  right  cheek  where  a  white 
spot  on  the  flesh  had  begun  to  throb  and  ache. 

"It's  only  a  touch  of  the  frost,"  said  June. 
"If  it  hurts  too  much  go  outside  again  and 
thaw  it  out  by  holding  your  bare  hand  over 
it." 

"Me  go  out  again  in  that!"  The  other 
laughed.  "Watch  me!  But  dearie,  you 
might  get  a  little  snow  to  rub  on  it.  That'll 
do  just  as  well." 

June  stared  for  an  instant. 

"No,"  she  explained,  "that's  the  worst 
thing  you  could  possibly  do.  If  the  rough 
snow  happened  to  scratch  that  spot  infection 
would  set  in  and  might  result  in  blood  poison- 
ing. The  bare  hand  is  the  only  safe  way."  She 
added  a  second  suggestion  that  to  escape  pain 
the  other  stand  outdoors  in  the  lee  of  the 
cabin. 

But  Gertrude  was  obstinate,  and  compro- 
mised by  sitting  on  one  of  the  rude  seats  near 
the  door  where  there  was  the  least  heat  from 
the  stove.  Quite  recovered  now,  she  exam- 
ined the  dimly  lighted  interior  of  the  cabin 


214  Star  of  the  North 

from  this  vantage  point  and  suddenly  became 
aware  of  Fleming  Magregor.  The  factor  lay 
quietly  asleep  in  his  bunk. 

"  My  father,"  June  explained  in  a  low  voice. 
Then  she  told  her  name,  where  she  lived,  and 
the  circumstances  leading  up  to  her  occupancy 
of  the  cabin. 

"But  the  strangest  thing,"  she  concluded 
with  a  laugh  of  amusement,  "is  that  we  started 
north  from  one  moving-picture  camp  and 
almost  blundered  on  another  one  in  the  middle 
of  nowhere.  It's  bewildering." 

Gertrude,  who  had  been  obediently  hold- 
ing her  hand  to  her  face,  looked  up  sharply. 

"What  moving-picture  camp  did  you  start 
north  from?" 

"The  Graphic.  You  see,  it's  located  only 
two  miles  up-stream  from  Fort  McLeod  where 
we  live.  They've  been  there  all  the  fall,  but 
they're  nearly  finished  now,  I  understand." 

"Just  how  much  do  you  understand,  I 
wonder?"  the  woman  asked  herself;  then  said 
aloucU 

"The  Graphics!    Well,  the  world  is  a  small 


Conflict  215 

place!  To  think  of  being  hauled  out  of  a 
blizzard  by  somebody  that  knows  that  bunch! 
I  suppose  you  do  know  'em?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  nearly  all;  Mr.  Briscoe  and  Miss 
French  and  Mr.  Baillie  and  Mr.  Temple  and 
Miss  Tanner,  and  a  lot  more." 

"Yes,  sir,  it's  the  same  old  gang,"  said 
Gertrude,  genially.  "Well,  doesn't  this  beat 
the  devil!  And  I  suppose  Temple  is  still 
playing  their  leads?"  with  an  air  of  curiosity. 

"Yes,  of  course,  but" — with  a  little  un- 
conscious pride — "he's  doing  some  directing 
now,  too.  Short  stuff  with  a  punch ! "  naively. 

"Oh,  he  is!"  The  woman  turned  away  to 
hide  her  surprise  and  chagrin.  This  was  news, 
and  the  kind  she  liked  least  to  hear,  since  it 
glorified  her  husband.  Furthermore,  this  girl 
seemed  to  show  a  familiar  interest  in  Paul 
Temple.  Gertrude's  impersonal  gossipy  in- 
terest in  the  doings  of  another  camp  had  sud- 
denly become  localized.  But  the  girl  must  not 
suspect,  and  she  herself  mustn't  be  too  curious 
tonight.  She  rose  and  walked  to  the  stove 
and  back,  regardless  of  her  thawing  cheek. 


2i6  Star  of  the  North 

"Guess  you  must  have  thought  that  Tom 
Briscoe  was  starting  a  squirrel  farm  when  he 
showed  up  with  that  bunch  of  nuts,"  she  said 
lightly,  and  joined  the  girl's  laughter.  "Or 
maybe  you  took  to  'em;  some  people  do, 
you  know."  She  yawned. 

"  Oh,  I  liked  them  all  from  the  first.  It  was 
strange  and  new,  of  course,  but  everyone  was 
so  charming,  and — but" —  noting  the  yawn — 
"forgive  me,  you  must  be  worn  out  after  your 
experience  this  afternoon .  How  is  the  cheek  ? ' ' 
She  rose  and  lifted  the  candle  to  examine  it. 
"Oh,  doing  nicely.  I'll  put  something  on 
for  the  night  and  by  morning  the  worst  will 
be  over." 

The  storm  which  seemed  to  have  increased 
in  intensity  rather  than  abated,  shook  the 
cabin  with  its  fierce  gusts,  thuttering  down 
the  chimney  and  swaying  the  candle  flames. 

Gertrude  Mackay  looked  about  her.  She 
saw  a  blanket-covered  pile  of  spruce  boughs 
within  arm's  reach  of  the  sleeping  factor;  that 
was  all. 

"Where  am  I  to  sleep?"  she  asked. 


Conflict  217 

"There/'  said  June,  pointing  to  the  wilder- 
ness bed  hospitably.  "I'll  roll  up  on  the 
floor  near  the  stove  for  tonight,  and  Jim  can 
cut  me  some  sort  of  a  bed  tomorrow." 

Miss  Mackay,  the  cosmopolite,  looked  about 
her,  horrified,  for  some  partition,  some  means 
of  privacy.  Miss  Magregor  who  had  camped 
alone  with  Jim  Albert  a  dozen  times  hummed 
a  tune  as  she  made  her  hard  bed.  The  matter- 
of-factness  of  the  girl's  calm  acceptance  of  the 
situation  shocked  this  woman,  some  of  whose 
escapades  had  been  the  talk  of  Broadway. 
After  all,  environment  determines  customs 
and  conventions.  Twice  she  turned  angrily 
to  protest,  but  a  feeling  that  she  was  about  to 
make  a  fool  of  herself  restrained  her.  Finally, 
with  a  helpless  shrug,  she  accepted  the  situa- 
tion, and  removing  her  dress  crawled  between 
the  blankets. 

But  after  the  lights  were  out  her  mounting 
sense  of  injury  and  anger  impelled  her  to  make 
one  thrust. 

"I  suppose  you  people  have  to  live  with- 
out the  privacies  and  decencies  of  life,"  she 


218  Star  of  the  North 

said,  "but  one  probably  gets  used  to  it  after  a 
while." 

June  uttered  some  inadequate  response, 
and  silence  fell  except  for  the  black  clamour 
of  the  storm. 

Between  attending  her  father,  keeping 
up  the  fire,  and  pondering  over  the  new  situ- 
ation that  had  arisen,  June  did  not  sleep 
much  that  night,  and  she  was  distinctly 
grateful  when,  at  the  earliest  glimmer  of  light, 
she  heard  Jim  Albert  stumble  against  the 
door. 

She  rose,  drew  the  bar,  and  he  staggered 
in  with  a  great  armful  of  firewood.  Finger  on 
lips  to  enjoin  silence,  she  recounted  in  a  low 
voice  the  events  of  the  night  before.  He 
glanced  down  at  the  white,  beautiful  face  of 
the  stranger,  imperious-looking  even  in  sleep, 
and  shrugged. 

"More  people,  less  grub,"  he  said,  not  in 
resentment,  but  merely  stating  a  fact  that 
was  uppermost  in  both  their  minds.  A 
straight  line  of  concern  appeared  on  June's 
forehead  for  a  moment,  but  she  said  nothing 


Conflict  219 

and  set  about  getting  the  breakfast  by  the 
light  of  the  candles. 

June's  movements  and  the  noise  of  the  pans 
presently  awoke  Gertrude  who,  when  she 
realized  where  she  was,  lay  with  eyes  closed, 
thinking.  The  talk  of  Paul  the  night  before 
recurred  to  her  sharply.  It  was  characteristic 
of  her  that,  though  she  refused  to  live  with  her 
husband,  she  held  in  suspicion  every  woman 
who  knew  him,  as  witness  her  jealousy  of  Mar- 
guerite French.  What  did  June's  frankly  ex- 
pressed interest  in  him  imply,  she  wondered. 
Anything  more  than  the  usual  feminine  awe 
of  America's  greatest  screen  star?  She  deter- 
mined to  use  the  day  before  her  to  find  out. 

Presently  she  let  it  become  known  that  she 
was  awake,  and  yawning  luxuriously  asked 
if  she  might  have  her  breakfast  in  bed.  It 
was  her  usual  custom,  she  confessed. 

June  showed  no  surprise. 

"Why,  yes,"  she  replied,  "if  you  don't 
mind  my  Indian,  Jim  Albert,  eating  here  too. 
He  sleeps  outside  in  the  tent,  but  we  all  eat 
together." 


220  Star  of  the  North 

Miss  Mackay  sat  bolt  upright. 

' '  What !  You  eat  with  one  of  those  niggers ! 
Really — !"  Words  failed  her.  But  pre- 
sently, when  June  made  no  reply,  she  flung 
aside  the  blankets  and  got  up.  "I  should 
think  hemight  at  least  wait  till  we're  through," 
she  said,  resentfully. 

June,  making  every  allowance  for  the  other, 
patiently  explained  the  code  of  necessity  that 
lay  back  of  these  customs.  By  this  time 
Fleming  Magregor  was  awake  and  June  pre- 
sented the  newcomer.  He  was  quite  free  of 
fever  now,  and  stoically  patient  under  the 
discomfort  of  his  knitting  bone.  He  learned 
from  Gertrude  of  the  incidents  of  the  night 
before,  and  courteously  expressed  his  satis- 
faction at  her  fortunate  finding  of  the  cabin. 
A  few  minutes  later  Jim  Albert  returned, 
stamping  and  shaking  himself  free  of  snow. 

"  Storm  no  stop,"  he  said  in  answer  to  June's 
question.  "Snow  two  days  yet,  maybe 
three." 

Through  the  square  windows  of  the  cabin 
the  dark  morning  light  showed  the  white 


Conflict  221 

sheets  of  flakes  driving  past  and  the  trees 
bending  before  the  wind. 

June  who,  with  an  extra  mouth  to  feed, 
had  prepared  a  careful  ration  of  bacon  and 
beans,  served  Miss  Mackay  first. 

"Say,  have  a  heart,"  said  the  latter  amus- 
edly, looking  at  her  tin  plate.  "  I'm  hungry.'* 

There  was  an  instant's  pregnant  silence. 
Then  June  increased  her  portion,  an  act  which 
automatically  left  less  for  the  other  three. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  said,  "but  you  see  we're 
short  of  provisions,  and  we  must  keep  enough 
for  our  journey  south.  I  must  get  father 
back  to  the  Fort  as  soon  as  I  can,  and  every 
day  of  this  storm  makes  a  difference." 

Gertrude  made  no  reply,  but  sat  down  as 
far  away  from  Jim  as  possible.  Except  for 
occasional  remarks,  by  the  factor,  conversation 
languished. 

June  was  silent.  She  was  trying  to  fit  her 
conceptions  to  this  new  experience.  The 
woman,  who  had  so  abruptly  projected  herself 
into  a  situation  already  serious,  was  a  bewilder- 
ing problem.  Not  only  was  she  totally  alien 


222  Star  of  the  North 

to  her  environment  and  its  necessities,  but 
she  seemed  equally  strange  to  the  amenities 
of  social  intercourse.  June  was  for  the  first 
time  facing  utter  selfishness,  and  she  did  not 
quite  know  how  to  meet  it. 

Gertrude  had  received  the  added  portion 
of  food  grudgingly  and  without  gratitude. 
What  could  be  the  life,  past  and  present,  June 
wondered,  of  a  woman  who,  knowing  the 
circumstances  of  the  party  in  the  cabin, 
could  do  that? 

It  had  been  Jim  Albert's  custom  to  wash 
the  dishes  and  do  what  little  work  the  cabin 
required,  but  this  morning  June  sent  him 
back  to  his  tent  with  the  assurance  that  she 
would  clean  up.  As  she  did  so,  Gertrude 
with  a  sudden  return  of  good  temper  and 
vivacity,  drew  up  one  of  the  crude  seats  beside 
Fleming  Magregor's  bunk  and  opened  a 
conversation.  He  was  a  little  surprised.  One 
glance  at  the  broadcloth  dress  she  wore  and 
her  jewel-laden  fingers  had  told  him  that  she 
represented  a  type  new  in  his  experience. 

While  she  worked,  June  was  aware  in  a 


Conflict  223 

general  way  that  the  talk  revolved  constantly 
around  the  "profession,"  a  subject  on  which 
Gertrude  seemed  tireless  and  inexhaustible, 
and  when  she  had  finished  she  joined  them. 
Gertrude  welcomed  her  with  a  peculiar  smile. 

"I  was  just  saying,"  she  explained,  "that 
this  Paul  Temple  you  mentioned  last  night 
is  on  the  skids.  These  bunk  heroes  only  last 
so  long,  you  know,  and  then  they  get  the 
swelled  head  or  lose  their  looks.  Temple's 
doing  both,  they  tell  me." 

Inwardly  June  bridled  a  little,  but  she  gave 
no  outward  sign  of  it.  Was  this,  she  won- 
dered, a  sample  of  the  professional  jealousy 
Baillie  had  so  often  complained  of,  as  keeping 
him  from  his  rightful  place  among  the  great? 

"I  don't  know  much  about  such  things," 
she  replied  gravely,  "but  I'm  sure  they're 
not  true  of  Mr.  Temple.  He's  very  modest, 
and  everybody  in  his  company  seems  to  like 
him."  Mentally  she  excepted  Baillie.  "And 
I  think  he's  very  good  looking,"  she  added.  ] 

"Oh,  you  do!"  Gertrude  laughed  a  little 
too  loudly. 


224  Star  of  the  North 

"Yes." 

But  for  the  strangely  inimical  feeling  this 
woman  roused  in  her,  June  could  have  poured 
out  a  rhapsody,  so  deep  and  proud  was  her 
love  for  him. 

"You  know  him  quite  well,  then?"  Ger- 
trude politely  included  Fleming  Magregor 
in  the  question. 

"Oh,  yes,  he  comes  to  the  Fort  often,"  said 
the  factor.  "  Wi'  one  thing  and  another  we're 
gude  friends.  There  was  that  day  now  when 
we  went  huntin'."  He  threw  back  his  head 
and  laughed  silently.  Then  while  Gertrude 
urged  him  flatteringly,  he  described  with  dry 
humour  the  long,  fruitless  hunt  for  deer.  June 
could  have  added  a  surprising  end  to  that  tale. 

"Yes,"  he  concluded,  "I  owe  him  a  deer, 
but  I  owe  him  more  than  that.  He  saved  the 
lassie's  life  one  day."  Some  time  since  the 
factor  had  been  told  of  that  desperate  adven- 
ture in  the  rapid. 

"Ah!"  The  woman's  lips  formed  a  smile, 
but  her  eyelids  had  narrowed.  "Do  tell  me 
about  it." 


Conflict  225 

"You  see,"  said  June,  "the  reason  we  knew 
the  Graphic  people  so  well  was  that  they  had 
taken  a  lot  of  scenes  at  the  Fort.  I  happened 
to  be  in  one  or  two  of  them  by  chance  and " 

"Oh,  you're  acting  for  the  pictures  too, 
eh?  A  young  genius  right  in  our  busy  midst 
and  I  never  suspected  it.  No  wonder  you 
know  Temple  well.  But  go  on." 

The  white  hands  in  her  lap  had  unconsciously 
clenched.  Because  hers  was  a  nature  which 
in  its  endless  self-seeking  had  never  found 
happiness  or  satisfaction,  the  knowledge  that 
Paul  whom  she  had  repudiated  had  found 
these  things  was  like  a  cancer  in  her  soul. 
She  hated  him  for  it,  and  she  hated  those 
associated  with  him.  Now  she  hated  June. 

Quite  ingenuously  and  a  little  eagerly,  be- 
cause of  this  woman's  obvious  desire  to  be- 
little Paul,  the  girl  told  of  that  day  in  the 
gorge.  And  as,  unconsciously,  her  voice 
thrilled  in  praise  of  the  man  she  loved,  and 
her  eyes  glowed  in  memory  of  his  splendid 
courage,  the  hypersensitive  ears  of  the  woman 

opposite  first  imagined,  and  then  knew  that 
is 


226  Star  of  the  North 

they  were  listening  to  a  credo  of  worship,  a 
confession  of  love,  pure  and  unashamed. 
When  she  had  finished  Gertrude  was  quick 
to  applaud. 

"Splendid!  splendid!"  she  cried,  and  then, 
quite  pale,  she  sprang  up  and  walked  to  the 
door.  "Whew!  it's  hot  in  here!"  she  flung 
over  her  shoulder  in  explanation.  Opening  the 
door  she  stood  looking  with  unseeing  eyes 
into  the  white  swirl  of  the  storm.  When  she 
had  recovered  her  outward  poise  she  shut  the 
door  again  and  returned  to  the  others,  but 
did  not  sit  down. 

"And  how  about  Temple's  affair  with 
Marguerite  French?"  she  asked  a  little  un- 
steadily. "In  New  York  they  had  'em  mar- 
ried, you  know." 

June  was  conscious  of  an  unpleasant  shock 
of  distaste,  but  she  answered  calmly  enough: 

"That  must  be  a  mistake.  Paul  and  Miss 
French  are  good  friends,  but  almost  never  see 
each  other  except  at  work.  She  is  not  inti- 
mate with  anyone." 

Gertrude  Temple  turned   away  again  to 


Conflict  227 

fight  down  the  "How  do  you  know  so  much 
about  it?"  that  sprang  to  her  lips.  Her  eyes 
smarted  with  tears  of  fury. 

"So  that's  it,  eh?"  she  said  to  herself. 
"Then  it  wasn't  French  at  all.  It  was  this 
one." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

REPRISAL 

A  GREAT  light  had  broken  upon  Gertrude 
Temple.  Swiftly  she  thought  back  to 
the  letter  she  had  received  months  ago  from 
Paul  begging  her  to  divorce  him.  That  letter 
had  come  from  the  Graphic  camp  in  the  wilder- 
ness, and  Gertrude  had  concluded  instantly 
that  Marguerite  French  had  inspired  it. 
Her  reply,  which  Temple  had  received  the  day 
he  first  met  June,  showed  this. 

Now  the  conviction  of  error  came.  She 
believed  that  Paul,  meeting  this  girl  of  the 
wild,  had  become  infatuated  with  her  and 
had  sought  his  freedom  on  her  account.  That 
June  loved  Paul,  Gertrude  was  certain,  and 
she  was  only  too  willing  to  surmise  that  he 
loved  her.  But  what  of  the  understanding 

between  them? 

228 


Reprisal  229 

Did  June  know  that  he  was  married? 

The  leading  lady  of  the  Stellar  Films  paced 
the  narrow  confines  of  the  cabin  like  a  caged 
animal. 

"Anybody  got  a  cigarette?"  she  flung  out 
in  the  midst  of  her  meditations.  "Lord!  I 
want  a  whiff!" 

The  polite  bewilderment  of  her  auditors  that 
preceded  the  negative  answer,  was  the  last 
proof  to  Gertrude  of  the  impossibility  of  these 
people.  And  this  girl  had  conquered  the 
man  she  had  failed  to  hold!  She  experienced 
the  fury  of  an  outraged  dog-in-the-manger. 

Did  June  know  that  Paul  was  married? 

While  the  tedious,  storm-racked  hours 
dragged  by,  the  woman  studied  the  girl.  In 
all  she  did  and  said  there  seemed  to  be  a  sub- 
dued joy,  an  exaltation  that  was  from  within, 
of  the  soul.  Sometimes  she  sang  softly; 
sometimes  a  tender,  preoccupied  look  filled 
her  eyes,  and  she  seemed  lost  in  the  contem- 
plation of  some  radiant  other  world.  Thus, 
without  even  the  previous  evidence  of 
glowing  speech,  Gertrude  knew.  Such  se- 


23°  Star  of  the  North 

renity,  such  faith  and  joy,  could  mean  but 
one  thing. 

Noon  came,  and  dinner.  Up  to  this  time 
Gertrude  had  not  lifted  her  hand  to  help,  and 
she  did  not  offer  now.  Apparently  the  idea 
never  occurred  to  her.  She  was  a  guest  and 
therefore  exempt.  If  you  took  a  stranger, 
injured  by  an  automobile,  into  your  Riverside 
Drive  apartment,  you  hardly  expected  them 
to  do  the  housework,  she  reasoned.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  Gertrude  rather  prided  herself 
on  her  restraint  and  good  temper  under  the 
circumstances. 

Deprived  of  her  maid  and  bath,  both  at 
camp,  this  whole  experience  was  very  trying. 
She  might  at  least  be  spared  menial  labour. 
But  June,  unable  to  conceive  the  other's 
viewpoint,  added  this  barbarism  to  Miss 
Mackay's  already  long  list.  The  women  were 
irreconcilably  opposed  at  every  view-point 
of  life. 

Dinner  consisted  of  bacon,  beans,  flapjacks, 
and  stewed  dried  fruit,  and  Gertrude  regarded 
the  outlay  with  ill-concealed  dissatisfaction. 


Reprisal  231 

But  she  was  so  hungry  that  even  the  extra 
portion  that  June  gave  her  left  her  ravenous. 
She  managed  to  forgive  the  diet.  But  she 
could  not  forgive  Jim  Albert's  presence  at 
table. 

Angered  by  this,  constantly  hungry,  and 
greatly  upset  by  June's  revelations  regarding 
Paul,  she  faced  her  hours  of  imprisonment  in 
an  evil  frame  of  mind.  Outside  the  storm 
raged  on  with  a  monotonous  roar  that  was 
nerve-racking.  Gertrude  felt  like  a  trapped 
beast,  and  paced  back  and  forth  lashing  herself 
into  a  fury  of  discontent. 

Through  it  all  June,  though  sorely  tried, 
kept  a  firm  hand  upon  herself.  Twice 
Gertrude  with  bursts  of  ill-temper  made 
an  open  break  imminent,  but  June  avoided 
it  on  each  occasion.  The  result  was  that 
Gertrude  was  baffled  and  left  impotently  in 
the  wrong. 

She  felt  this,  and  doing  so  realized  that  this 
wilderness  girl  who  scarcely  knew  the  "de- 
cencies" of  life  was  defeating  her,  keeping 
the  upper  hand  in  their  relationship,  and  with 


232  Star  of  the  North 

smarting  pride  she  compared  herself  with 
June  in  Paul's  sight. 

The  result  was  costly. 

The  bit  of  mirror  that  hung  against  the  wall 
told  disagreeable  truths.  Deprived  for  a  day 
of  the  aids  which  she  had  long  considered 
necessary  to  beauty,  she  looked  sallow  and 
(to  herself)  unkempt.  Little  wrinkles  at  the 
corners  of  her  eyes  and  on  her  forehead 
showed  with  startling  plainness,  and  there  were 
deep  indentations  from  her  nose  to  the  corners 
of  her  mouth. 

This  was  only  the  physical  comparison;  the 
mental  was  equally  disastrous.  Twice  forced 
to  change  the  subject  when  June  had  skilfully 
turned  the  conversation  upon  books,  her 
poverty  of  thought,  even  of  vocabulary, 
stood  out  glaringly. 

It  was  unnecessary  to  seek  further.  Gertrude 
knew  that  if  Paul  had  any  love  left  in  him, 
this  girl  had  won  it;  she  was  exactly  the  type 
of  idiot  he  would  adore — had  wanted  herself 
to  be.  The  stinging,  indubitable  fact  that  this 
girl  was  her  successor  made  Gertrude  giddy. 


Reprisal  233 

The  thought  was  unendurable,  not  because 
she  loved  Paul  or  regretted  leaving  him, 
but  because  she  could  not  support  the  idea 
of  anyone  else  succeeding  where  she  had 
failed.  Her  glances  of  fury  promised  an  early 
revenge. 

Meanwhile  June,  serenely  ignorant  of  the 
storm  that  was  gathering  round  her  head, 
resumed  her  sewing,  interrupted  the  night 
before,  gave  her  father  his  medicine,  and 
sitting  beside  him  they  chatted  in  the  intimate 
companionable  way  they  had. 

At  sunset  came  Jim  Albert,  with  quantities 
of  wood  for  the  night  and  spruce  boughs  for 
June's  bed.  The  candles  were  lighted  and 
June  commenced  to  get  supper.  The  meal 
threatened  again  to  consist  of  bacon,  beans, 
and  tea  until  Jim,  his  round  face  beaming, 
brought  in  a  whitefish  he  had  caught  through 
a  hole  in  the  ice  of  the  lake. 

The  fact  averted  an  outburst  from  Gertrude 
whose  patience  with  everything,  especially 
the  diet,  was  at  an  end.  After  the  meal  she 
deliberately  led  the  conversation  back  to  the 


234  Star  of  the  North 

subject  of  the  "profession"  and,  by  impercep- 
tible transitions,  to  the  Graphics  and  Paul. 
Her  face  was  quite  pale,  and  her  usually  full 
lips  were  compressed  to  a  thin  line.  Her 
eyes  glittered  with  the  hardness  of  sapphires. 
Fleming  Magregor,  wearied  with  the  long 
day,  fell  asleep  while  she  talked. 

June,  to  whom  Paul  was  ever  a  welcome 
subject  of  conversation,  recalled  her  last 
night's  speculation  concerning  his  life  in  the 
metropolis,  and  sought  enlightenment. 

"You  knew  Mr.  Temple  in  New  York,  I 
suppose?"  she  asked,  feeling  a  little  twinge  of 
envy. 

Gertrude  laughed. 

"Oh,  Lord,  yes — quite  well,  in  fact." 
She  was  alive  to  the  ironical  humour  in  the 
question  and  the  present  situation. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad!  Then  you  can  tell  me 
what  I  want  to  know.  What  is  his  life  there 
like — I  mean  his  life  outside  of  the  studio? 
What  does  he  do  to  amuse  himself?  Who  are 
his  friends?"  June  coloured  a  little,  as  if  to 
apologize  for  so  deep  an  interest. 


Reprisal  235 

Gertrude  laughed  again,  and  this  time  there 
was  an  ugly  note  in  the  sound. 

"Oh,  he's  a  devil  for  speed,  Paul  is!  He 
reads  books  something  terrible.  Or  he  stays 
up  late  working  out  sets  for  new  pictures. 
Why,  sometimes  I've  actually  know,  him  to  go 
to  a  show.  Oh,  I  tell  you  there's  nothing  Paul 
won't  do  after  work  hours!" 

June  felt  the  sarcasm  and  was  a  little  non- 
plussed. Why  should  Paul's  manner  of  life 
annoy  Miss  Mackay  so  much?  Then  she  was 
conscious  of  Gertrude  leaning  forward,  amuse- 
ment still  curling  her  lips. 

"You're  pretty  keen  on  Paul,  ain't  you, 
Miss  Magregor?" 

To  a  girl  of  her  own  age  and  sensibility  June 
might  have  confided  a  rhapsody  upon  the  man 
she  loved,  but  something  in  this  question, 
in  the  asker's  tone,  look,  and  manner  restrained 
her. 

"I  like  him  very  much,"  she  said  with  a 
certain  reserved  dignity.  "He's  the  best 
friend  I  have  in  the  world. " 

"You  don't  say!"  with  forced,  polite  sur- 


236  Star  of  the  North 

prise.  "But  say,  I'd  feel  awful  sorry  for 
anybody  that  married  him.'" 

In  the  silence  that  ensued  the  sleeping 
factor  stirred,  and  the  perpetual  clicking  of 
snowflakes  against  the  windows  swelled  in 
crescendo  as  a  blast  of  wind  drove  them.  The 
forest  bellowed  with  a  vast,  reverberating 
voice,  and  the  two  candles,  that  served  to 
reveal  the  women  to  each  other,  flickered.  A 
stick  in  the  stove  snapped. 

"Why?" 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you."  The  hard  eyes 
gleamed  with  satisfaction.  "I  suppose  you've 
heard  of  these  what  they  call  vampire-women 
that  kill  all  the  good  in  a  man,  and  ruin  his 
life,  and  all  that?"  June  nodded  vaguely. 
"Well,  Paul's  a  vampire-man.  Any  woman 
that  married  him  would  have  to  give  up  every- 
thing in  the  world  but  breathing,  and  play 
second  fiddle  forever,  amen.  He'd  want  her 
to  know  all  about  how  great  he  is,  but  he'd 
see  that  she  didn't  get  any  chance  to  be  great 
herself." 

The  venom  that  filled  the  words  was  not 


Reprisal  237 

lost  upon  June.  The  girl  was  saying  to  her- 
self: "Even  if  what  she  says  is  true,  why 
should  she  be  so  bitter  about  it?"  Aloud  she 
said: 

"I  can't  imagine  his  being  like  that.  He 
seems  to  me  the  most  unselfish  man  in  the 
world." 

"Naturally!" — smirking — "but  you  don't 
know  him.  If  there's  one  thing  he  couldn't 
stand,  it  would  be  the  success  of  his  own  wife. 
He's  a  great  one  for  the  woman  in  the  home, 
awful  strong  for  little  feet  pattering  about  the 
place,  and  all  that. " 

June  experienced  a  faint,  sweet  confusion. 
But  only  for  an  instant.  She  was  trying  to 
fight  down  a  prescience  of  something  sinister 
that  had  suddenly  flung  its  shadow  above  her. 
What  it  was  she  did  not  know;  she  only  knew 
it  existed,  and  that,  somehow,  it  seemed  to 
have  emanated  like  an  evil  aura  from  Gertrude 
Mackay. 

"  Mr.  Temple  never  talked  like  that  to  me, " 
she  hesitated,  "and  he  was  always  trying  to 
help  the  people  of  his  company  to  do  better, 


238  Star  of  the  North 

the  women  as  well  as  the  men.  Especially 
Miss  Tanner,  who  isn't  awfully  brilliant,  you 
know." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  drily.  "Well,"  her  eyes 
glittered,  "if  you'll  take  the  word  of  one  who's 
had  him  right  for  years,  you'll  believe  what 
I  say."  Her  mouth  twisted  as  she  tried  to 
smile.  "He's  a  faker  and  a  scoundrel,  and 
he's  lied  to  you." 

Instinctively  June  rose  to  her  feet,  her 
eyes  blazing  into  those  other  eyes  that  met 
hers  now  with  a  fixed  intensity  of  hatred.  At 
the  same  time  she  felt  shudderingly  as  if  the 
tentacles  of  some  loathsome  evil  had  closed 
about  her. 

"How  dare  you  say  that?"  she  cried. 
"It's  not  true!  I  shan't  believe  it!" 

"How  dare  I?"  Gertrude  spoke  with  the 
calm  insolence  of  triumph.  "Who  has  a 
better  right?  I  am  his  wife,  and  have  been 
for  five  years. " 

"You— what !" 

The  girl  could  not  go  on.  She  stood  mute, 
transfixed. 


Reprisal  239 

"I'm  his  wife,"  the  other  repeated,  "a 
mere  trifle  he  forgot  to  mention — to  you." 

Her  revenge  was  sweet.  The  look  on  that 
stricken  face  afforded  her  a  poignant  pleasure, 
an  exquisite  satisfaction.  Gone  was  her 
sense  of  baffled  defeat  by  this  girl.  Hers  was 
the  upper  hand  now. 

June  stood  quite  still,  her  colour  ebbing 
until  she  was  as  white  as  paper.  For  the 
first  moments  the  bare  shock  of  the  statement 
blurred  all  her  thoughts  and  feelings.  Then 
every  faculty  rallied  to  defence. 

"  I  don't  believe  you — I  won't. "  Her  voice 
was  low,  passionless,  monotonous.  "He 
couldn't  have  done  that  to  me. " 

"Believe  me  or  not,  it's  the  truth."  She 
lifted  the  finger  that  should  have  borne  her 
wedding  ring.  "But  we  haven't  been  proud 
of  it  for  quite  a  while,  and  I've  quit  advertising 
the  fact.  It  interferes  with  business,  you 
know."  She  smiled  quite  pleasantly. 

Through  the  daze  of  her  pain  June  knew 
that  the  woman  had  not  lied,  dared  not  lie. 
No  sane  motive  could  be  behind  the  folly 


240  Star  of  the  North 

of  such  untruth.  Gertrude  was  obviously 
sane.  Vaguely,  for  the  first  time,  June 
realized  the  hatred  against  her  of  this  woman 
whose  life  she  had  saved. 

Then  even  as  the  torrent  of  words  and  tears 
gushed  up,  pride  came  to  her  rescue.  After 
all  no  definite  understanding  existed  between 
herself  and  Paul.  She  loved  him  but  he  had 
not  spoken  the  final  word  that  asked  her  to  be 
his.  With  a  superhuman  effort  she  brought 
herself  under  control.  Deliberately  she  threw 
a  stick  of  wood  into  the  stove  and  resumed  her 
former  seat. 

"I  congratulate  you, "  she  said  in  a  strangely 
calm  voice.  "I've  been  told  that  actors  had 
wives  tucked  away  in  almost  every  corner  of 
the  world.  But, "  she  added  with  an  inspira- 
tion that  was  not  of  herself,  "if  I  were  Paul 
Temple's  wife  I  should  be  absurdly  proud  of 
the  fact.  No  woman  could  be  really  worthy 
of  him,  you  know. " 

Gertrude  Temple  was  stung  out  of  her  self- 
complacency.  Here  were  not  the  tears  and 
grief  of  shattered  young  romance,  but  rather 


Reprisal  241 

self-possession  and  a  retort  with  a  sting  in  it. 
Had  she  made  a  mistake,  she  wondered?  Had 
she  saddled  herself  with  a  husband  again  to 
no  real  purpose?  Her  triumph  commenced 
to  wear  the  look  of  failure. 

16 


CHAPTER  XIX 

COMPENSATION 

OOMEHOW  June  got  through  the  re- 
^  mainder  of  that  evening,  but  when  she 
lay  down  on  her  bed  of  spruce  boughs  it  was 
to  face  the  stark  truth  defenceless.  The  storm 
which  bellowed  and  flailed  on  in  its  blind 
fury  was  a  fit  accompaniment  to  her  thoughts. 
Sometimes  when  the  hut  creaked  and  swayed 
with  the  force  of  the  blast  she  wished  that  it 
would  suddenly  collapse  upon  her  and  blot  out 
everything;  the  task  of  living  seemed  too  great. 
All  life  seemed  unreal.  She  felt  as  if  she 
were  floating  in  a  vast  black  void  without 
means  of  support,  and  her  distracted  brain 
pictured  this  as  her  life  to  be — dull,  blind 
existence  in  a  universe  from  which  the  sun 
had  gone  and  the  earth  slipped  from  beneath 
her  feet. 

242 


Compensation  243 

So  Paul  was  a  scoundrel  like  Baillie!  She 
shivered  and  refused  the  thought  recognition. 
She  dared  not  face  it  now.  After  the  events 
and  hardships  of  the  last  week  that  way  led 
to  madness.  She  must  think — think  hard 
of  anything,  everything  else;  of  her  father's 
needs,  of  the  physical  aspects  of  their  situation 
here,  of  the  projected  journey  south. 

Paul  Temple  a  scoundrel  like  Baillie 

There  was  the  food!  They  still  had  so 
many  pounds  of  bacon,  beans,  flour,  tea,  and 
dried  fruit.  Granting  that  the  storm  lasted 
two  days  longer,  and  that  they  made  a  fair 
day's  journey  southward,  how  many  ounces 
of  each  provision  could  she  allow  per  meal  per 
person,  granting  of  course  that  Miss  Mackay, 
no,  Mrs.  Temple —  She  brought  up  with  a 
shock.  She  had  circled  back. 

Paul  was  married!  Paul  had  done  this 
incredible,  inconceivable  thing! 

Desperately  she  took  up  the  food  problem 
again.  Her  mind  worked  like  the  spring  of  a 
steel  trap.  She  juggled  incredible  fractions 
with  nightmare  ease,  doggedly  fighting  off 


244  Star  of  the  North 

that  red-hot  stab  of  pain  that  came  with  the 
constantly  recurring  words,  "Paul  is  married! 
Paul  is  married !"  .  .  . 

At  last  everything  became  one  hopeless 
jumble,  and  utterly  worn  out  mentally  and 
physically,  she  fell  asleep. 

Morning  brought  light  to  her  eyes  but  none 
to  her  soul.  Mrs.  Temple  arose  in  surpris- 
ingly good  humour.  During  breakfast  she 
uncovered  a  fund  of  anecdote  which  caused  the 
worldly-wise  old  factor  to  squirm  in  his  bunk. 
As  if  by  tacit  agreement  neither  woman 
revealed  to  Magregor  Gertrude's  married 
state. 

But  this  did  not  prevent  the  latter's  dis- 
cussing the  fact  sotto  rcoce.  She  took  a  hand  in 
the  housework  in  order  to  have  June  for  an 
audience.  A  new  twist  of  her  character 
manifested  itself  in  the  delight  with  which 
she  welcomed  a  new  listener  to  the  long  story 
of  her  wrongs  at  Paul's  hands. 

"The  first  year  we  were  married  things  were 
all  right,"  she  confided.  "We  were  in  the 
same  company.  But  the  second  year,  when 


Compensation  245 

Paul  couldn't  get  anything  in  New  York  he 
wanted  me  to  go  out  on  the  road  with  him. 
I  told  him  that  it  would  do  us  more  good  for 
me  to  stay  on  Broadway  pulling  wires,  but 
no,  he  wouldn't  see  it. 

' '  I  married  to  have  a  wife  and  a  home, '  says 
he,  '  and  if  we  can't  live  together  in  New  York, 
we  can  on  the  road.'  Now,  can  you  beat 
that  for  selfishness?  And  when  I  refused  to 
go,  he  was  wild.  He  was  so  afraid  I'd  get  a 
Broadway  engagement  he  couldn't  see.  And 
when  I  began  to  make  friends  that  might  have 
given  us  a  lift,  was  he  pleased  and  grateful? 
Like  the  devil  he  was!  Somebody  wrote 
him  a  lot  of  lies  about  me,  and  he  came  in 
from  the  road  so  hot-foot  he  burned  shoe- 
leather. 

"And  then  we  had  it  out.  He  wanted  me 
to  give  up  my  friends  and  go  with  him.  The 
nerve!  As  if  I'd  go  pluggin*  around  some 
kerosene  circuit  when  I  had  friends  in  New 
York  that  burned  the  town  after  nightfall! 
Now  that  shows  you  what  kind  of  a  guy  he 
was,  unreasonable  and  selfish.  Why,  one  of 


246  Star  of  the  North 

these  cobry  snakes  is  full  of  affection  alongside 
of  him!" 

This  was  just  the  beginning.  When  Ma- 
gregor  dropped  off  for  his  morning  nap,  she 
went  on  in  a  louder  tone,  following  June 
about  as  she  talked,  a  half -dried  tin  plate  or 
forgotten  stick  of  wood  in  her  hand. 

June  was  almost  beside  herself.  In  the 
narrow  confines  of  the  cabin  there  was  no 
escape,  and  the  girl  whose  every  nerve  was  as 
raw  as  if  it  had  been  cut  with  a  knife,  wanted 
to  scream  and  rush  out  into  the  blessed  relief 
of  the  storm. 

But  once  more  her  pride  saved  her.  Sus- 
pecting that  Gertrude  was  deliberately  tor- 
menting her  by  talking  of  Paul,  she  grimly 
accepted  the  challenge.  All  morning  the 
strange  contest  went  on.  Then,  as  so  often 
happens  in  life,  out  of  this  bitterest  trial,  came 
unexpected  good.  Gertrude  slowly  but  in- 
evitably accomplished  her  own  defeat. 

As  she  reviewed  her  experiences  her  sense 
of  injury  increased,  and  the  wrongs  she  had 
suffered  at  Paul's  hand  grew  correspondingly. 


Compensation  247 

Blessed  with  a  luxuriant  imagination  where 
personal  feeling  was  concerned,  the  luridness 
of  incident  and  detail  in  her  narrative  grew 
until  these  at  last  rang  false  even  upon  June's 
unsophisticated  ear.  The  girl  knew  she  was 
lying,  and  the  realization  marked  the  turning 
of  the  tide. 

Thinking  back  over  all  Gertrude  had  said, 
June  realized  a  strange  fact.  Gertrude,  try- 
ing her  hardest  to  damage  Paul,  had  uncon- 
sciously painted  a  portrait  of  him  that  was  a 
counterpart  of  the  one  experience  had  en- 
shrined in  her  own  heart.  Because  the  wo- 
man's point  of  view  had  been  so  distorted  and 
untrue,  she  had  unwittingly  left  in  high  relief 
those  qualities  for  which  June  had  always 
loved  him.  With  incredible  venom  Gertrude 
had  proved  her  husband  to  be  simple,  honour- 
able, sensitive,  patient,  and  fine. 

And  because  of  this,  a  new  tremulous  faith 
in  Paul  commenced  to  reassert  itself  in  June. 
The  fact  that  he  had  concealed  his  marriage 
from  her  remained  of  course  an  inexplicable 
contradiction  and  a  barrier  between  them, 


248  Star  of  the  North 

but  now  she  advanced  to  that  barrier  unafraid. 

Complete,  unquestioning  trust  had  always 
characterized  her  former  feeling  for  him. 
This  trust  had  helped  her  through  the  poignant 
girlish  disillusionment  regarding  Baillie;  it 
had  asked  no  questions  when  Paul  remained 
away  apparently  without  excuse  for  a  fort- 
night ;  and  it  had  palliated  his  sudden  leaving 
of  her  that  day  in  the  living  room  of  the  Fort 
when  she  had  tried  to  express  her  gratitude  for 
all  he  had  done. 

Gertrude  had  unconsciously  vindicated 
Paul's  character.  Could  not  June  then  ex- 
tend her  faith  in  him  even  to  include  his  failure 
to  tell  of  his  marriage?  Perhaps  there  had 
been  some  great,  compelling  reason  that  had 
sealed  his  lips.  She  believed  it,  though  im- 
agination failed  to  suggest  that  reason. 

And  there  was  another  question  too.  Why 
had  he  not  told  her  early  in  their  friendship? 
Was  he,  like  Gertrude,  loth  to  admit  the 
galling  yoke  for  business  reasons  ?  She  did  not 
know.  She  must  await  his  answers  before  she 
condemned  him  finally. 


Compensation  249 

From  that  moment  a  change  came  over 
June.  She  forgot  the  storm,  the  close  cramped 
quarters  of  the  cabin,  and  the  half-starva- 
tion she  had  known  since  Gertrude's  arrival. 
Serene  in  the  possession  of  her  new  faith,  she 
cared  not  if  the  other  rambled  on  forever; 
each  new  word  only  added  to  her  conscious- 
ness of  victory. 

She  commenced  to  sing  softly  to  herself 
as  she  went  about  her  work;  once  more  she 
bubbled  over  with  a  subdued,  tremulous 
happiness,  as  shy  and  courageous  as  the  first 
flower  of  spring. 

Gertrude  viewed  this  phenomenon  dumb- 
founded. Everything  had  been  so  satisfac- 
tory— and  now  to  find  that  her  most  eloquent 
efforts  had  evoked  only  joy!  The  evening 
before  she  had  suspected  that  her  revenge  had 
failed.  Now  she  knew  it. 

June  went  to  bed  that  night  serene  in  spirit, 
and  awoke  to  bright  skies  and  the  still, 
muffled  quiet  that  follows  a  heavy  snow-storm. 
Jim  Albert  had  overestimated  the  duration  of 
the  blizzard. 


250  Star  of  the  North 

Gertrude,  quite  characteristically,  could 
scarcely  restrain  her  joy  at  the  prospect  of 
leaving.  Nor,  truth  to  tell,  could  her  hosts. 
She  demanded  the  dogs  and  the  sledge  im- 
mediately after  breakfast,  but  when  Fleming 
Magregor  discovered  that  she  had  no  idea 
where  the  Stellar  camp  was,  he  demurred  until 
Albert  could  reconnoitre. 

About  noon  while  the  Indian  was  still  away, 
there  came  a  halloo  from  the  lake  and  those  in 
the  cabin  saw  two  strange  men  on  snow-shoes 
approaching.  Gertrude  looked  at  them  un- 
certainly a  moment  and  then  gave  a  shout  of 

joy. 

"Saved  at  last!"  she  cried,  with  uncon- 
scious naivete.  "They're  guides  from  our 
camp!" 

The  men  were  almost  as  glad  to  see  Ger- 
trude as  she  to  see  them. 

"  Thank  heaven  we've  found  you! "  said  one, 
fervently.  "Mr.  Bergman's  wild.  He's  had 
us  out  searching  for  you  in  the  worst  of  the 
blizzard.  We  could  hardly  keep  him  from 
starting  out  himself." 


Compensation  251 

Though  the  man's  voice  was  respectful, 
June  could  detect  the  resentment  in  it. 

"Oh,  Bergman!"  laughed  Gertrude.  "I'd 
forgotten  about  him.  I  suppose  he  was  rather 
cut  up.  It  must  have  been  funny. " 

The  man  checked  his  words  but  looked  his 
surprise.  He  was  a  white  trapper  by  the 
name  of  Adams,  whom  the  Magregors  knew. 
His  companion  was  an  Indian. 

"  Camp's  only  two  miles  away, "  he  told  the 
factor  when  he  had  renewed  the  acquaintance, 
"  and,  of  course,  we  never  thought  to  look  any- 
where as  close  as  this.  Didn't  know  anyone 
was  here ,  in  fact .  When  do  you  start  down  ? ' ' 

"Tomorrow  at  dawn,  Heaven  willing!" 
declared  Magregor.  "And  by  the  way,  Ben, " 
he  added,  "can  you  spare  us  a  little  grub  from 
your  camp?  We're  about  down  to  the  rind. " 

A  peculiar  look,  half  of  concern,  half  of 
shame,  crossed  the  other's  face. 

"Unless  you're  all  out  I  can't — wouldn't 
dare,"  he  replied  earnestly,  in  a  low  voice. 
"Everything  ain't  quite  right  over  there." 
He  jerked  his  head  significantly  towards 


252  Star  of  the  North 

camp.  "I'm  storekeeper  for  'em,  an'  if  I 
know  anything,  those  fifty  tourists  are  goin* 
to  need  help  this  winter.  The  men  that  out- 
fitted 'em  must  have  been  fools. " 

Magregor  nodded  in  grave  surprise.  Things 
must  be  serious.  The  refusal  of  a  grub-stake 
in  winter  was  a  rare  thing. 

"Oh,  we'll  make  out  all  right,"  he  said  cheer- 
fully. "Don't  think  anything  more  about  it. " 

Gertrude  made  ready  quickly.  Rather  than 
wait  for  the  dogs  she  decided  to  tramp  the  two 
miles  with  the  men. 

"And  besides,"  she  said,  "I  guess  Bergman 
is  about  wild.  It  would  be  a  shame  to  keep 
him  in  misery  any  longer. " 

June  who,  since  the  arrival  of  the  searching 
party,  had  heard  nothing  but  Bergman, 
expressed  her  curiosity. 

"Who  is  Bergman?"  she  asked.  "Your 
director?" 

"Nope.  The  owner  of  Stellar.  He's  wast- 
ing a  lot  of  time  up  here  when  he  ought  to  be 
in  New  York  'tending  to  business." 

June  was  puzzled.     Bergman's  anxiety  and 


Compensation  253 

Gertrude's  familiar  contempt  of  one  in  his  ex- 
alted position  struck  an  unpleasant  note.  A 
vague,  repellent  wonder  dawned  in  her  mind. 

When  she  stood  ready  to  go,  Gertrude  led 
June  a  little  to  one  side. 

"I  suppose  I  owe  you  a  great  deal,  dearie, " 
she  said,  "so  if  you  ever  come  to  New  York, 
be  sure  and  look  me  up.  Meantime  I  suppose 
you  will  see  Paul." 

"Probably,  if  the  Graphics  haven't  gone 
back, "  June  replied  imperturbably. 

"Well,  if  you  do,"  and  the  lady  smiled 
sweetly,  "tell  him  how  you  met  his  wife,  and 
say  that  she  loves  him  in  the  same  old  way. 
Also  you  might  add  that  she  still  considers 
divorce  a  very  sinful  proceeding" — she 
laughed — "and  that  unfortunately  her  health 
remains  exceptionally  good." 

It  was  a  last  desperate  shot  and  it  went 
home. 

June  turned  away  suddenly  without  reply- 
ing, and  Gertrude  tingled  with  satisfaction. 
The  two  did  not  speak  together  again,  and  a 
few  minutes  later  Miss  Mackay  left. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   WORM   TURNS 

'"THE  Stellar  Camp  had  been  built  beside 
one  of  the  innumerable  small  streams 
that  empty  into  Loon  Lake.  A  confused 
group  of  raw  log  huts  now  buried  to  their 
windows  in  snow,  it  was  partially  sheltered 
from  the  wind  by  a  steep  cut  bank  and  the 
spruce  forest  which  crowned  it. 

An  hour  after  leaving  the  Magregor  cabin 
where  Adams,  the  trapper,  and  his  Indian 
had  found  her,  Gertrude  approached  the  camp. 
But  the  sight  of  it  raised  no  anticipations  of 
joyful  home-coming  or  reunion  in  her  mind. 
Though  she  had  cried  "Saved  at  last!"  at 
sight  of  her  rescuers,  this  huddle  of  buildings 
evoked  no  deeper  emotions  than  the  thought  of 
needed  physical  comforts  to  be  obtained,  and 
the  opportunity  offered  to  impersonate  the 

254 


The  Worm  Turns  255 

surviving  heroine  of  desperate  adventures — a 
role  she  was  carefully  prepared  to  play. 

And  yet  the  camp  stood  there  a  monument 
to  her  whim! 

Several  months  before,  conscious  of  her 
increasing  ascendancy  over  Bergman,  Ger- 
trude had  sought  her  revenge  on  Paul,  both 
for  his  material  success  and  for  what  she 
supposed  was  his  new  love  affair.  Publicity 
stories  emanating  from  Camp  Graphic  were 
whetting  the  public  appetite  for  "A  Wilderness 
Idyl,"  and  its  release  promised  to  be  an  event 
in  movie  history. 

The  thought  that  her  husband  was  about  to 
add  this  new  triumph  to  his  already  long  list, 
crystallized  Gertrude's  jealous  envy.  She 
convinced  Bergman  that  by  rushing  a  com- 
pany north  at  top  speed  and  working  fast, 
the  Steller  could  release  a  northern  film  coin- 
cident with  the  Graphic  feature  which  would 
greatly  counteract  its  success. 

Bergman,  whose  only  unswerving  allegiance 
was  to  the  shapely  dollar  sign,  could  see  the 
business  possibilities  in  this  suggestion.  The 


256  Star  of  the  North 

attempt  would  at  least  divide  the  public 
interest,  and  probably  still  the  furore  over  the 
rival  release. 

In  reward  for  her  plan  Gertrude  received 
the  leading  female  role  in  "A  Magdalene  of  the 
Snows" — achieved  stardom  overnight.  But 
even  this  promotion  was  not  purely  exuberant 
gratitude  on  Bergman's  part.  As  he  himself 
had  predicted  that  hot  September  afternoon  in 
the  New  York  tango  palace,  the  earlier  films 
in  which  she  had  appeared  had  proved  success- 
ful. For  the  first  time  Gertrude  was  becoming 
widely  known. 

Stellar's  expedition  into  the  wilds  had  set 
a  record  for  speed  and  financial  outlay,  and 
these  isolated,  half -smothered  huts  were  its 
sole  visible  result.  Built  without  careful 
forethought  for  arrangement,  they  faced  in 
all  directions  like  blocks  dropped  by  a  careless 
hand.  Even  at  a  distance  they  gave  an  im- 
pression of  faulty  organization  and  ill-advised 
haste. 

Drawing  nearer,  Gertrude's  spirits  did  not 
rise.  There  were  no  signs  of  life  except  a 


The  Worm  Turns  257 

brown  thread  of  wood-smoke  against  the  blue 
sky,  and  the  woman  experienced  a  sharp  dis- 
illusionment, a  wretched  discontent  with  it  all. 
The  tragedy  of  Gertrude's  life  was  that,  bring- 
ing no  love  or  joy  to  anything,  she  found  no 
love  and  gladness  anywhere. 

The  return  of  the  lost  was  signalled  by  her 
companions  with  a  shrill  whistle  and  waving  of 
arms,  and  Gertrude,  taking  her  cue,  moved 
through  the  ensuing  scenes  of  welcome  with 
an  off-hand  depreciation  of  perils  survived  that 
showed  careful  rehearsal  on  the  walk  home. 
And  yet  she  knew  that  her  noisy  reception  was 
not  genuinely  joyous.  These  people  were  re- 
lieved that  she  was  alive.  That  was  all. 

Bergman  was  not  at  camp,  she  learned,  but 
had  gone  off  with  the  southern  searching  party 
and  would  not  be  back  until  dark.  Gertrude 
silently  thanked  heaven  for  the  respite,  and 
departed  to  her  maid  and  her  bath. 

About  four  o'clock  there  was  a  jingle  of 
bells  and  a  dog-team  dashed  up  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  men's  shouts.  A  moment  later 

there  came  an  impatient  knock  at  Gertrude's 
17 


258  Star  of  the  North 

door,  and  in  response  to  her  word,  Bergman 
floundered  in.  He  was  in  furs,  and  his  hair, 
eyebrows,  and  moustache  were  covered  with 
frost. 

"Thank  God  they  found  you,  Gertie!"  he 
cried,  with  hoarse  emotion.  "I  was  afraid  it 
was  too  late. "  He  went  towards  her  eagerly. 

Her  maid  had  gone,  and  she  sat  dressed  in  a 
rose-coloured  tea-gown  before  a  tray  of  tea 
and  assorted  pastry  that  had  been  placed  on 
the  rough  table.  She  rose  and  held  out  her 
hands  with  a  tired  smile. 

"I  really  believe  you  mean  it,  Al.  It's 
rather  nice  to  be  missed,  you  great  big  bear, 
you.  Oh,  no !  You  mustn't  touch  me,  you'll 
get  me  all  wet. " 

He  remembered  the  melting  snow  on  his  furs 
and  moustache  and  restrained  himself  with 
an  effort. 

"Nice  to  be  missed,  Gert!"  he  groaned. 
"Gawd,  I  thought  you  was  dead." 

"I  have  been  through  a  good  deal,"  she 
admitted,  plaintively,  "but  I'm  like  the  bad 
penny.  Some  tea?" 


The  Worm  Turns  259 

Baffled  by  his  reception,  he  turned  hesitat- 
ingly away. 

"No,  I  guess  not.  Now  that  you're  safe, 
I  suppose  I'd  better  look  after  things.  We 
got  to  have  a  conference.  Durham's  kickin' 
again,  and  so  is  Adams.  It  seems  like  it's 
nothin'  but  kicks  here  all  the  time."  He 
stood  a  moment  longer  devouring  her  with 
his  eyes.  "Well,  I  guess  you  want  to  be 
alone,  so  I'll  come  in  after  dinner." 

"All  right,  Al,  whatever  you  say." 

He  left  her,  still  baffled  and  a  little  hurt. 

The  heads  of  the  Stellar  enterprise  gathered 
in  what  Bergman  termed  his  office,  a  small, 
square  room  at  the  end  of  the  cabin  where 
the  props  were  stored.  Durham,  the  director, 
a  small  wiry  man,  bald-headed  and  wearing 
glasses,  was  there,  as  was  Peters,  the  male  lead, 
a  hero  well  known  for  his  romantic  mop  of 
hair  and  soulful  eyes.  Adams,  who  was  in 
charge  of  the  material  needs  of  the  camp,  com- 
pleted the  group. 

The  director  spoke  first.  He  was  falling 
farther  and  farther  behind  in  his  "takes" 


26o  Star  of  the  North 

because  of  lack  of  facilities,  he  complained. 
It  looked  now  as  if  they  would  have  to  omit 
the  big  dog-team  race,  as  there  weren't  enough 
dogs  in  camp,  and  none  of  the  nearby  trappers 
or  Indians  would  loan  or  sell  theirs  at  this 
time  of  year.  Moreover,  he  had  discovered 
that  in  the  hurry  of  departure,  a  case  of  film 
had  been  left  behind,  and  he  was  afraid  of 
running  short  before  he  finished. 

"Well,  don't  waste  so  much, "  Bergman  said, 
testily.  "You  use  fifty  thousand  feet  to 
release  six.  I  don't  mind  that  in  New  York, 
but  you  can't  do  it  here. " 

Durham  threw  his  hands  hopelessly  into  the 
air. 

"How  can  I  get  effects  without  film?  I 
must  eliminate,  add,  retake.  It's  the  art  of 
the  thing.  I  can't  be  held  down  like  some 
tyro.  I  must  have  a  free  hand  to  develop  my 
ideas.  Besides,  my  people  are  discontented. 
How  can  I  do  anything  under  the  circum- 
stances ? ' '  He  ceased  with  a  look  of  despair. 

Bergman  growled  and  turned  to  Peters. 

He  represented  the  actors  and  actresses,  he 


The  Worm  Turns  261 

said.  They  were  perishing  with  cold.  The 
cabins  were  badly  built,  and  there  were  not 
enough  stoves.  There  had  been  a  miscalcula- 
tion, evidently,  in  the  number  required,  and 
what  had  come  weren't  properly  distributed. 
Something  must  be  done. 

Recalling  that  each  room  of  Gertrude's 
detached  cabin  had  a  stove,  Bergman  recog- 
nized the  currents  beneath  the  surface  of  this 
complaint.  But  he  also  realized  with  some 
compunction  that  too  much  had  been  asked 
of  his  company  in  plunging  them  into  an 
almost  arctic  winter  without  opportunity  for 
acclimatization.  He  promised  Peters  that  he 
would  try  to  remedy  matters. 

Adams  succinctly  stated  that  if  the  company 
expected  to  remain  in  the  North  as  long  as 
they  had  planned,  there  would  have  to  be  a 
drastic  reform  in  the  use  of  supplies. 

"It  ain't  that  you  haven't  got  enough 
truck,"  he  said,  "but  it  ain't  the  right  kind. 
That  parleyvoo  chef  of  yours  uses  up  good 
flour  makin'  fancy  do-dads  that  don't  stay  a 
man  ten  minutes.  You're  'way  short  on 


262  Star  of  the  North 

bacon  an'  beans  an'  the  grub  that  you  ought 
to  have.  Whoever  outfitted  you  must  have 
been  a  arm-chair  explorer.  If  you  expect  to 
pull  through,  you'll  have  to  begin  to  cut 
rations." 

Peters,  who  had  been  listening,  sharply 
interrupted  with  a  toss  of  his  mane  to  inquire 
if  he  would  have  to  put  up  with  starvation  as 
well  as  freezing. 

"You  will  if  you  don't  cut  down,"  Adams 
reiterated  convincingly. 

Bergman  left  the  conference  disgusted  and 
discouraged.  His  chief  resentment  was  with 
himself  for  having  let  his  infatuation  place 
him  in  this  position — a  fact  which  he  had  to 
admit.  Under  the  pretence  that  this  biggest 
of  Stellar  enterprises  needed  his  personal 
attention,  he  had  supervised  every  detail  of 
preparation,  and  brought  the  company  north, 
all  as  a  cloak  for  his  desire  to  be  with  Gertrude 
Temple. 

As  speed  had  been  imperative  if  the  Graphic 
triumph  were  to  be  minimized,  the  blunders  of 
ignorance  and  haste  had  begun  to  show  them- 


The  Worm  Turns  263 

selves,  and  the  uncompromising,  implacable, 
northern  winter  was  taking  full  advantage  of 
every  one  of  them. 

Now  the  unimagined  possibility  of  failure 
stared  him  in  the  face.  Disorganization  and 
discontent  reigned,  esprit  de  corps  was  gone, 
and  even  his  leaders  seemed  against  him. 

Dinner  that  night  in  the  mess  cabin  was  not 
a  cheerful  affair.  Word  had  gone  round  of  the 
results  of  the  conference,  and  the  gloom  was 
impenetrable.  It  was  plain  to  the  majority 
that  instead  of  conditions  bettering  they  must 
grow  worse,  and  an  illuminating  sidelight  on 
the  state  of  feeling  was  that  Gertrude  Mackay's 
safe  return  was  scarcely  mentioned  during  the 
meal.  That  lady  herself,  fatigued,  it  was 
assumed,  by  her  experiences,  did  not  appear, 
but  had  a  tray  sent  in. 

After  dinner,  smoking  moodily,  Bergman 
walked  to  her  cabin.  It  had  grown  cold  with 
the  clearing  of  the  storm,  and  the  thermometer 
was  nearing  thirty  degrees  below  zero.  The 
stars  sparkled  with  frosty  brilliancy  in  a  dull 
blue  sky,  and  to  the  north  there  was  a  ceaseless 


264  Star  of  the  North 

ghostly  interplay  of  colours  as  the  Aurora 
flicked  its  streamers  up  the  heavens.  On  the 
river  bank  the  husky  dogs  howled  dismally 
at  the  display,  and  now  and  then  some  freez- 
ing tree  expanded  with  the  report  of  a  rifle- 
shot. 

In  his  mood,  the  interior  of  Gertrude's  cabin 
grated  on  Bergman.  Here  everything  to  com- 
pel luxury  amid  desolation  had  been  done. 
There  were  cushions,  curtains,  knick-knacks — • 
even  an  easy  chair;  all  demanded  by  the  lady 
along  with  the  chef,  and  brought  at  the  ex- 
pense of  practical  and  necessary  things.  In 
the  bedroom  back  of  the  thin  partition,  the 
toilet-table,  with  its  coloured  jars  and  bottles 
and  silver-backed  accessories,  was  a  strange 
anomaly  in  its  primitive  setting. 

Bergman  sat  down  heavily  on  a  plain  pine 
chair,  forgetful,  to  Gertrude's  delight,  of  the 
proprietory  kiss.  He  felt  for  the  first  time 
with  a  vague  resentment  that  she  was,  in  a 
way,  back  of  all  his  troubles. 

"  Guess  you'll  have  to  kiss  one  of  your  stoves 
good-bye,"  he  began  gloomily.  "Peters  put 


The  Worm  Turns  265 

up  an  awful  roar  about  the  bunkhouses  being 
cold  this  afternoon. " 

"H'm!  I  suppose  he  mentioned  me!" 
She  bristled. 

"No,  he  didn't  have  to." 

She  looked  at  him  astonished.  She  had 
expected  a  different  reply.  Warm,  satisfied, 
well-fed,  like  a  cat  she  expected  a  stroking. 
Her  ire  increased. 

"Well,  Al,  you  certainly  can't  expect  me, 
the  leading  woman  of  this  company,  to  be 
robbed  to  make  that  false  alarm  comfortable. " 

In  his  hour  of  depression  the  man  ardently 
longed. for  appreciation,  encouragement,  and 
sympathy,  and  Gertrude's  crass  self-assertion 
rasped  him. 

"Maybe  he's  a  false  alarm  and  maybe  he 
ain't, "  he  replied,  testily.  "  Nobody  ever  tells 
me  his  eight  hundred  a  week  is  a  false  alarm. " 

He,  too,  had  blundered.  Gertrude's  chief 
hatred  of  the  leading  man  rested  on  the  fact 
that  he  received  more  money  than  she  did. 

"Why  should  they?  You  signed  him  on  at 
that.  Only  a  fool  would  have  done  it." 


266  Star  of  the  North 

He  nodded  his  head  slowly  while  his  swarthy 
face  darkened  under  a  slow  tide  of  colour,  and 
his  little  black  eyes  grew  hard.  The  dead 
cigar  drooped  from  the  corner  of  his  mouth. 

' '  And  only  a  fool  would  have  come  up  here, " 
he  grated.  "  I  know  that  now. " 

It  was  like  a  slap  in  the  face,  this  blurted 
opinion  of  the  Stellar  wild-goose  chase  for 
which  she  was  primarily  responsible.  She 
sat  looking  at  him  in  astonishment  and  anger 
that  for  a  moment  were  inarticulate.  He 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  only  four  hours 
ago  she  had  been  restored  to  him  from  the 
arms  of  death. 

"So  you're  passing  the  buck  to  me,  are 
you?"  she  finally  managed  in  a  voice  as  taut 
as  a  steel  wire.  "Because  that  pretty-boy's 
got  cold  feet,  I'm  to  blame,  eh?" 

"Maybe  you  are  and  maybe  you  ain't, "  he 
said,  doggedly.  "Who  thought  of  comin* 
up  here  in  the  first  place?  It  wasn't  me,  was 
it?  Who  thought  of  gougin'  the  Graphics?" 

"Well, you  didn't  have  to  do  it,"  she  flashed. 
"Nobody  made  you.  You  offered,  didn't 


The  Worm  Turns  267 

you?  What  are  you  raisin'  the  devil  with  me 
for?  "  Her  blue  eyes  seemed  to  emit  sparks  of 
fire,  and  her  voice  was  strident. 

"  Yes,  I  offered,"  he  retorted.  "  It  was  part 
of  our  bargain.  You  was  to  be  a  star  at  the 
head  of  your  own  company,  and  I  made  you  a 
star.  I  kept  my  bargain  as  I  said  I  would." 
The  veins  on  his  low  forehead  stood  out. 
"But  you  haven't  kept  your  bargain.  You 
and  me  were  to  hit  it  off  when  you  were  made, 
but  every  time  I  try  to  talk  to  you  I  get  the 
icy  mitt.  Do  you  call  that  fair?  What  do 
you  think  I  come  up  here  for  anyway?  To  see 
the  snow?  To  hear  Durham  belly-ache  about 
art?" 

He  leaned  towards  her,  his  pudgy  hands 
clenched  on  his  knees.  Swiftly,  unpremedi- 
tatedly,  his  moment  of  depression  striking  the 
flint  of  her  selfishness  had  flashed  new  fire  into 
the  tinder  of  long-smouldering  resentments 
and  injustices.  Put  off  with  flimsy  excuses, 
evaded  with  open  daring,  he  had  for  weeks 
been  unconsciously  preparing  for  this  time. 
Now  that  it  was  upon  him,  he  had  gone  too 


268  Star  of  the  North 

far  to  draw  back.  He  rushed  on  without 
giving  her  a  chance  to  speak,  watching  her 
passion-contorted  face  unwinkingly. 

"I  never  handed  you  any  bum  poetry,  or 
bunk  about  platonic  love.  You  and  I  under- 
stood each  other  from  the  first.  And  I  don't 
blame  no  woman  for  getting  what  she  can  out 
of  the  game — I  never  knew  one  yet  that  didn't, 
married  or  single.  But  I'll  tell  you  this  much, 
Gert,  a  bargain's  a  bargain,  and  a  woman  that 
don't  live  up  to  one  is  the  lowest  woman  there 
is,  bar  none." 

She  started  to  speak  but  he  checked  her  with 
a  wave  of  his  hand. 

"I  love  you,  Gert,  and  I  have  since  the  first 
day  I  saw  you.  I'm  willin'  to  give  you  every- 
thing I  can  and  do  everything  for  you,  but 
I  expect  you  to  do  your  end.  I  don't  ask 
much,  only  a  little  love  and  sympathy  and 
understanding.  What  good  is  a  woman  to  a 
man  if  she  don't  give  him  them  things?  " 

He  stopped  abruptly,  leaving  her  breathless 
and  unprepared.  For  an  instant  the  remem- 
brance flashed  upon  her  that  those  were  just 


The  Worm  Turns  269 

the  things  Paul  Temple  had  so  often  asked  in 
vain,  and  the  realization  came  that  even  in 
such  a  relationship  as  this  gross  Jew  had 
offered,  men  sought  something  of  a  woman  a 
little  higher,  a  little  nobler  than  merely  grati- 
fied desire. 

Then  ethical  considerations  were  swept 
away  on  a  torrent  of  fury. 

"Love  me!"  she  laughed,  with  shrill,  mirth- 
less scorn.  "You  love  me  a  lot,  you  do !  This 
looks  like  it,  don't  it,  coming  in  here  and  try- 
ing to  blame  me  because  things  have  gone 
wrong.  Here  I  am,  not  four  hours  back  from 
my  grave  for  all  you  knew,  and  you're  just 
layin'  on  the  love  thick,  you  are!  Insulting 
me,  and  treating  me  as  if  I  was  some  fresh 
extra  girl!" 

The  thought  of  her  recent  hardships,  and  the 
bitter  injustice  of  it  all  struck  a  resounding 
chord  of  self-pity.  She  dabbed  her  eyes 
with  her  handkerchief. 

"Little  you  know  what  I've  been  through, 
and  little  you  care !  For  two  days  I've  almost 
starved.  I  haven't  had  my  clothes  off,  or 


270  Star  of  the  North 

had  a  night's  rest;  and  now  you  blame  me 
because  I  was  willing  to  come  up  to  this  God- 
forsaken snow-drift  to  take  a  picture  that 
ought  to  make  Stellar  the  biggest  thing  in  the 
world.  And  you  talk  about  my  not  keepin' 
my  bargain.  Gawd!  haven't  I  done  every- 
thing I  could,  give  my  life,  almost?"  She  was 
frankly  weeping  by  this  time,  but  watching 
him  nevertheless. 

Bergman,  squatting  like  a  frog  on  his  hard 
chair,  waited  stolidly  until  she  had  finished. 
His  features  had  not  changed  their  expression, 
but  now  as  he  spoke  there  was  ugly  determina- 
tion in  his  voice. 

"All  right,  Gert.  You've  had  your  say 
and  I've  had  mine.  You're  dodgin'  again,  like 
you've  always  done,  but  you  can't  get  away 
with  it  this  time.  I've  put  up  with  all  I'm 
goin'  to.  I've  done  my  share,  and  I'm  goin'  to 
collect.  That's  all  for  tonight,  but  tomorrow 
I'm  goin'  to  find  out  where  you  stand." 

He  rose  abruptly,  shifting  his  chewed  cigar 
from  one  corner  of  his  mouth  to  the  other,  and 
stood  looking  down  upon  her  with  that  de- 


The  Worm  Turns  271 

tached  consideration  which  Gertrude  had 
learned  to  associate  with  his  business  oper- 
ations. 

"I  ain't  goin'  to  argue  with  you,"  he  con- 
cluded, "because  there's  nothin'  to  argue 
about.  You  made  a  bargain,  an'  the  question 
is,  are  you  goin'  to  keep  it,  or  ain't  you?  You 
can  think  things  over  tonight  and  I'll  come 
around  again  in  the  morning  to  find  out  where 
we  stand. " 

He  spoke  with  a  disconcerting  finality  that 
robbed  the  woman  for  a  moment  of  speech. 
Then  turning  away,  he  calmly  lifted  his  outer 
garments  from  the  nail  where  they  hung, 
opened  the  door,  and  went  out. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AN   UNWELCOME   GUEST 

COR  a  moment  after  he  had  gone  Gertrude 
Temple  sat,  a  graven  image  of  amaze- 
ment, her  handkerchief  half-way  to  her  eyes, 
her  lips  parted  as  if  about  to  speak.  Her 
sobs  had  automatically  ceased  when  the  door 
closed,  and  now  gradually  a  look  that  was  part 
defiance  and  part  fear  overspread  her  face. 

With  that  resounding  departure  the  whole 
aspect  of  her  life  had  changed.  She  con- 
fronted an  unprecedented  situation.  Berg- 
man's ultimatum  had  precipitated  a  crisis,  had 
swept  aside  her  carefully  laid  plans.  Suc- 
cessful until  now  in  holding  him  off,  she  had 
counted  on  doing  so  until  she  really  became 
famous,  when  she  meant  to  attach  him,  awed 
and  harmless,  to  her  train.  And  now  he  had 

ruined  everything. 

272 


An  Unwelcome  Guest  273 

"Oh,  the  black  beast!  I  hate  him!"  she 
panted,  crushing  her  ball  of  moist  handker- 
chief in  one  palm.  And  yet,  angry  as  she  was, 
she  thought  clearly  and  coolly. 

A  woman  of  mediocre  talent  who  had  lived 
by  her  wits  since  leaving  her  husband,  she  had 
studied  men,  and  while  learning  their  manage- 
ment had  acquired  the  art  of  extracting  the 
most  from  them  while  giving  the  least.  But 
never  before  had  her  victim  revolted — an 
unflattering  reflection  on  her  skill  in  the  pre- 
sent case. 

Knowing  Bergman  as  she  did,  she  admitted 
the  seriousness  of  this  crisis.  Placid,  stolid, 
easy-going,  he  was  good-tempered  until 
aroused;  then  inflexible.  Having  spoken  as 
he  did  tonight,  she  knew  he  would  not  go  back. 
Similar  but  less  intense  scenes  between  them 
in  the  past  had  ended  in  his  humility  and 
capitulation,  but  this  one  would  not,  she 
knew.  She  had  witnessed  the  wreaking  of 
his  purpose  upon  others.  He  was  adamant. 

This  in  itself  was  disconcerting  enough,  but 

it  was  made  more  so  by  the  peculiar  char- 
is 


274  Star  of  the  North 

acter  of  her  natural  surroundings.  Hemmed 
in  on  every  side  by  snow-smothered  leagues  of 
wilderness,  she  realized  that  she  was  com- 
pletely in  his  power.  The  wiles  and  subter- 
fuges of  crowded  Manhattan  would  avail  her 
nothing  here,  and  suddenly  she  felt  helpless, 
desperate,  like  a  trapped  animal. 

Particularly  appalling  was  the  thought  that, 
after  all,  Bergman  was  right,  that  his  accusa- 
tions were  true.  She  had  suggested  the  Stellar 
expedition,  and  she  had  not  kept  her  bargain. 
She  could  not  evade  those  two  facts.  Yet  she 
did  not  intend  to  surrender;  she  revolted  at 
the  thought  of  compulsion.  In  her  deter- 
mination she  sought  wildly  for  any  loophole 
of  escape,  but  she  could  find  none.  Bergman 
was  too  clearly  in  the  right  and  she  in  the 
wrong.  .  .  . 

That  night  her  life  seemed  very  bitter  and 
unjust  to  Gertrude.  And  to  make  matters 
worse,  she  commenced  recalling  the  doubly 
hateful  details  of  Paul's  successful  work  and 
comparative  happiness  as  June  had  revealed 
them.  She  contrasted  this  desolate,  badly 


An  Unwelcome  Guest  275 

managed  camp  with  the  smart,  efficient  organ- 
ization farther  south,  and  the  spirit  of  accom- 
plishment and  mutual  helpfulness  reigning 
there  with  its  reverse  here.  And  the  old 
savage  envy  gnawed  again  at  her  soul. 

But  the  keenest  spur  was  the  thought  that 
Paul  loved  someone  else.  A  second  romance 
had  come  into  his  life  at  the  very  time  when 
her  own  soiled  and  tawdry  episode  with  Berg- 
man had  reached  its  end.  He  had  everything 
and  she  had  nothing! 

She  burst  into  tears  of  anger  and  self-pity, 
and  let  them  have  their  way  with  her  awhile. 
Then  drying  her  eyes  she  returned  to  the  old 
wearisome  game  of  contrivance  by  which  she 
lived.  What  course  of  action  would  yield  the 
most  now? 

The  morning  after  the  clearing  of  the  storm, 
June  and  Jim  Albert  were  up  before  dawn. 
Though  intensely  cold  the  bright  stars  augured 
fair  weather,  and  preparations  for  the  start 
went  on  swiftly. 

June  cooked  a  meagre  breakfast  while  Jim 


276  Star  of  the  North 

loaded  the  sledge .  The  dogs ,  whose  daily  ration 
of  dried  fish  had  also  suffered  decrease,  were 
gaunt  and  wolfish.  Scenting  food,  they  crowd- 
ed determinedly  about  the  sledge  until  Jim  had 
to  drive  them  off  with  his  long  whip.  One  suc- 
cessful snatch  of  those  white  fangs,  and  the 
party's  predicament  would  indeed  be  serious. 

Fleming  Magregor,  of  course,  was  a  helpless 
burden  upon  the  party  and  must  ride  the 
entire  distance.  His  broken  leg,  set  between 
splints  skilfully  shaped  by  the  Indian's  hunt- 
ing knife,  was  knitting  satisfactorily,  but  to 
touch  the  foot  to  the  ground  was  out  of  the 
question.  The  long,  jarring,  straining  journey 
would  in  itself  be  tax  enough. 

Dawn  was  a  faint  white  glow  in  the  south- 
eastern sky  when  all  was  ready.  The  ghostly, 
snow-laden  trees  stood  motionless  in  the  still 
air.  The  wide  expanse  of  the  lake  looked  like 
steel.  There  was  no  sound  except  an  occa- 
sional mysterious  snapping  in  the  forest  depths. 
The  breaths  of  dogs  and  men  were  clouds  of 
white  vapour  which  froze  in  frosty  rime  on 
furs  and  shaggy  coats. 


An  Unwelcome  Guest  277 

June  had  turned  back  to  the  cabin  for  a  last 
inspection  when  she  observed  a  human  figure 
coming  along  the  shore  of  the  lake  towards  her. 
Surprised  and  curious,  she  waited.  A  mo- 
ment later,  with  a  shock  of  astonishment,  she 
recognized  Gertrude  Temple,  wearing  snow- 
shoes  and  carrying  some  object  in  her  hand. 

In  silence  the  other  approached,  and  when 
she  reached  the  girl,  set  an  alligator  leather 
handbag  down  on  the  snow  beside  her. 

"Good  morning,  scholars,"  she  said,  cheer- 
fully. ' '  I  guess  you  weren't  expecting  me,  but 
thank  Heaven,  I  got  here  in  time. " 

June's  amazement  increased.  "I  don't 
quite  understand,"  she  said,  blankly,  "did 
you  come  to  see  me — us — for  any  reason?" 

"I  sure  did.  I  want  to  go  south  with  you, 
so  I  came  over.  Do  you  get  up  as  early  as 
this  every  morning?  Lord!"  She  yawned 
with  fervour  and  abandon,  her  arms  out- 
stretched, her  small  mouth  frankly  wide. 
June,  noticed  that  she  was  dressed  in  the  rich 
and  costly  furs  of  their  former  meeting. 

Had  she  gaily  tossed  a  dynamite  bomb  in 


278  Star  of  the  North 

their  midst  she  could  have  created  no  more 
havoc  than  did  this  announcement.  June 
stood  speechless,  aghast,  trying  to  realize 
that  she  had  heard  aright. 

"Well,  we  hardly— I—you " 

"What  is  it,  June?"  asked  her  father,  a 
little  sharply,  from  the  sledge  where  he  sat 
propped  up  against  the  duffle. 

The  girl  motioned  her  companion,  and  to- 
gether they  walked  towards  him. 

"It's  Miss  Mackay, "  June  explained.  "  She 
has  come  over  from  her  camp  and  wants  us  to 
take  her  south  with  us. " 

The  factor's  jaw  dropped  as  he  stared  his 
incredulity. 

"Take  her  south  with  us!" 

"Yes,"  Gertrude  interposed,  eagerly,  in 
her  own  behalf.  "You  see,  Mr.  Magregor,  I 
heard  you  say  yesterday  you  were  starting  for 
Fort  McLeod  this  morning,  so  when — certain 
things — happened  as  they  did — I  decided  I 
would  like  to  go  along.  There  really  isn't 
any  other  way  for  me  to  go,  is  there?" 

"But  why  should  ye  go  at  all,  ma'am?" 


An  Unwelcome  Guest  279 

Magregor  inquired,  bluntly.  "This  is  no 
time  for  you  to  be  leavin'  here  and  travellin* 
in  the  dead  of  winter. " 

"Oh,  but  you  don't  understand.  I  must 
go.  I  wouldn't  think  of  it  if  there  was  any- 
thing else  to  do,  but " 

"Why?  I  don't  understand  this. "  He  was 
frankly  ill-pleased. 

"Oh,  because,"  she  burst  out,  "I'm  going 
south  to  my  husband  where  I  belong." 

"Your  husband!"  He  almost  shouted  the 
words.  "I  didn't  know  ye  had  a  husband. 
Ye  call  yourself  Miss  Mackay!" 

"Yes,  I  do.  That  was  my  name  before  I 
was  married  and  I  use  it  on  the  stage."  In 
her  anxiety  to  explain,  to  win  his  consent,  her 
usual  impudent  lightness  was  gone. 

"  But  how  can  we  take  you  to  your  husband? 
He  certainly  can't  be  where  we're  going.*' 

"  Oh  yes,  he  is.  He's  at  the  Graphic  Camp. 
Paul  Temple  is  my  husband." 

"Paul  Temple!"  For  a  moment  he  was 
helpless  beneath  the  shock  of  the  revelation. 
Then  he  tried  to  adjust  his  ideas  to  it.  Its 


280  Star  of  the  North 

deeper  significance  in  their  lives  found  expres- 
sion in  an  involuntary  glance  towards  June. 
The  factor  had  not  been  blind  during  the 
months  of  Paul's  association  with  his  daughter, 
but  he  had  trustfully  bided  his  time,  knowing 
that  when  the  moment  came  June  would  tell 
him  what  there  was  to  tell.  Now  her  face, 
white  and  pinched  in  the  frame  of  its  parka, 
verified  his  fears.  The  instinctive,  murderous 
rage  against  Paul  shook  him  by  the  throat  but 
he  fought  it  down,  remembering  the  main  issue. 
This  woman  wanted  to  go  south  with  them. 

"Mrs.  Temple,"  he  said,  evenly,  "you 
mustn't  think  of  going  with  us.  We  haven't 
room  for  you.  Besides,  your  work  is  here, 
isn't  it?  How  can  ye  leave  that?" 

"If  you're  playing  the  lead  in  this  picture, 
how  will  they  be  able  to  finish  it  if  you  go?" 
asked  June  unexpectedly,  her  voice  hard  and 
challenging. 

Gertrude  flashed  her  a  glance  of  fury.  The 
knowledge  of  opposition  from  this  quarter 
only  served  to  harden  her  determination. 
Yet  the  question  was  not  an  easy  one  to  answer. 


An  Unwelcome  Guest  281 

Possessed  of  a  contract  with  Bergman  so 
favourable  to  herself  that  she  was  willing  to 
chance  his  suit,  yet  she  knew  better  than 
to  offer  such  ethics  to  her  interlocutors.  She 
was  spared  a  reply  by  the  factor,  who,  having 
thought  deeply,  spoke  again. 

"I'm  sorry,  Mrs.  Temple,"  he  said,  "but 
ye  can't  come  with  us,  ye  couldn't  stand  it. 
Ye've  travelled  little  in  the  North,  I'm  think- 
in',  and  we're  goin'  to  travel  hard.  It'll  be 
cruel  on  us  who  have  done  it  all  our  lives,  but 
it  would  kill  you.  You're  not  fit.  You'd 
only  hold  us  back,  and  I'm  drag  enough  as  it 


is." 


Jim  Albert,  who  stood  impatiently  nearby, 
spoke  sharply  to  the  dogs  which,  restless  and 
eager  to  be  off,  were  tugging  tentatively  at  the 
traces  and  sitting  down  again  perplexed.  The 
day  was  growing;  the  dead  white  light  in 
the  east  had  given  place  to  a  crimson  that 
was  gradually  staining  snow  and  sky. 

"Oh,  but  I  promise  to  keep  up,  not  to  com- 
plain, "  Gertrude  begged,  earnestly.  The  pos- 
sibility of  refusal  had  not  seriously  occurred 


282  Star  of  the  North 

to  her,  and  now  it  was  unthinkable.  Not 
only  would  she  be  forced  back  to  face  Berg- 
man, but  the  treachery  of  her  attempted  flight 
would  become  known. 

"Na  doot  ye  mean  well,"  said  the  factor, 
"and  would  try,  but  that  isn't  all,  Mrs. 
Temple.  There's  the  grub  to  think  of.  We've 
none  to  spare;  we're  verra  short  for  the  three 
of  us,  let  alone  anyone  else.  I  tried  to  buy 
some  from  Adams  yesterday,  but  he  couldn't 
spare  any.  Ye're  not  used  to  that  sort  of 
thing,  Mrs.  Temple.  Ye  couldn't  stand  it." 

Gertrude's  anxious  face  brightened  with 
swift  relief. 

"Oh,  I  thought  of  that,"  she  cried.  "I 
knew  you  were  short  and  brought  my  own 
food."  She  pointed  to  the  sack  she  had  set 
down  on  the  snow  when  she  had  first  ap- 
proached June. 

Things  seemed  at  a  deadlock.  The  wo- 
man was  unconquerable.  Accepting  every  con- 
dition gladly,  there  seemed  no  really  valid 
excuse  for  refusing  her  further.  But  the 
factor  was  determined. 


An  Unwelcome  Guest  283 

"I'm  sorry,  Mrs.  Temple,"  he  repeated 
with  finality,  "but  you  can't  go  with  us. 
Ye'll  forgive  my  bluntness,  but  it's  impossible. 
However,  if  there's  any  message  we  can  take 
to  Mr.  Temple,  tell  me — or  perhaps  there's  a 
letter.  I  promise  to  deliver  it  to  him  myself. 
Now  go  back  to  your  camp  and  think  no  more 
about  this.  At  any  other  time  or  in  other 
circumstances  we  would  have  been  glad  to 
have  you,  but  not  now." 

He  had  asked  the  thing  she  could  not,  would 
not  do.  Gertrude  saw  defeat  staring  her  in 
the  face,  and  the  thought  of  all  it  involved 
whipped  her  to  a  last  effort.  She  burst  into 
well-nigh  hysterical  tears,  all  the  time  desper- 
ately seeking  some  way  to  turn  her  failure  into 
triumph.  Then  the  evil  inspiration  came,  and 
she  deliberately  lied. 

"You've  got  to  take  me,"  she  sobbed,  "you 
can't  do  anything  else.  Y-you  asked  me 
about  the  picture  and  I  wouldn't  tell  you  at 
first,  b-but  now  I  will.  Last  night  I  had  an 
awful  row  with  Bergman,  our  owner,  b-because 
I  got  lost  in  the  storm  and  he  told  me  to  get 


284  Star  of  the  North 

out — d-didn't  want  me  there  any  longer.  He 
said  he  was  g-going  to  give  my  part  to  some- 
one else,  and  that  he  was  done  with  me,  the 
b-black  beast!" 

Her  tears  strangled  her  for  a  moment,  but 
presently  she  rushed  on. 

"I  knew  he  m-meant  it,  but  where  was  I 
to  go?  Then  I  thought  of  my  husband,  of 
P-Paul.  Who  else  could  I  go  to?  Who  else 
ought  to  take  care  of  me  ?  I — I  knew  you  were 
starting  south  and  would  see  him,  and  what 
other  way  was  there  for  me  to  get  to  him  than 
go  with  you?  I  can't  go  back  to  the  camp, 
Mr.  Magregor,  and  if  you  leave  without  me, 
what '11  I  do?  I've  no  one  else  to  turn  to. 
You  can't  leave  me  here  to  die!"  The  last 
words  were  a  wail  of  despair. 

Obviously,  Magregor  could  not  leave  her 
here  to  die.  None  knew  that  better  than  he. 
Her  ultimate  appeal  did  not  fall  on  deaf  ears. 
And  yet  he  did  not  want  her.  He  thought 
of  driving  to  the  Stellar  Camp  and  trying 
to  patch  up  matters  between  this  woman 
and  her  persecutors.  But  that  meant  delay, 


An  Unwelcome  Guest  285 

perhaps  another  day  of  it,  and  they  had  wasted 
enough  time  already. 

As  if  for  advice  he  looked  to  June,  who 
throughout  the  whole  colloquy  had  stood 
silent  and  motionless.  She  met  his  glance 
with  one  of  utter  defeat. 

"I  think  we  had  better  take  Mrs.  Temple 
with  us, "  she  said  in  a  dead,  colourless  voice. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  dearie,  you  are  my  friend, " 
cried  the  other  plaintively  as  she  dried  her 
tears. 

Magregor  glanced  .at  his  watch.  Already 
the  sun  hung  a  pale  red  ball  above  the  woods 
on  the  far  shore  of  the  lake. 

"Under  the  circumstances  I  can't  refuse 
ye,  Mrs.  Temple,"  he  said,  ungraciously. 
"Jim,  throw  that  bag  on  here  and  get  started. 
We've  lost  an  hour  already. " 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE   FIRST   STOP 

HpHE  crossing  of  Loon  Lake  soon  revealed  the 
nature  of  the  work  before  them.  The 
new  snow  lay  two  feet  deep  and  was  as  loose 
and  shifting  as  sand,  the  intense  cold  having 
prevented  the  gritty  flakes  from  melting  to 
form  a  frozen  crust.  Magregor  had  deliber- 
ately waited  until  this  morning  to  start  in 
the  hope  that  the  sun  of  the  afternoon  before 
would  effect  a  change  so  well  worth  the  delay, 
but  the  sudden  drop  in  temperature  had 
defeated  him. 

Now  the  going  was  heavy.  Under  the 
factor's  weight  the  sledge  sunk  deep  and 
the  dogs  floundered  and  slipped  through  the 
elusive  footing.  Jim  Albert  tramping  ahead, 
tried  to  pack  some  sort  of  trail  with  his  broad 

snow-shoes  but  accomplished  little. 

286 


The  First  Stop  287 

However,  the  lake  offered  luxury  compared 
with  the  travelling  they  found  in  the  forest 
beyond  the  southern  shore.  Here  among  the 
spruces  and  jack-pines  there  was  no  level, 
open  surface,  but  a  rough  and  ready  country 
of  gullies,  muskeg  swamps,  and  hills.  It  was 
deep  woods  work  and  bristled  with  obstacles, 
— abrupt  declivities,  protruding  tree  limbs, 
submerged  stumps  and  boulders.  And  for 
all  their  careful  driving,  the  sledge  heaved  and 
careened  until  the  factor  groaned  in  agony. 
Here  they  moved  through  a  windlessness  as 
complete  as  chaos  must  have  been  before  the 
Word.  But  Creation  had  come,  white  and 
undulating,  and  across  its  blind  face  the  slim 
tree  trunks  cast  straight  blue  shadows. 

And  yet  life  still  pulsed  tenuously  in  this 
wilderness  of  death.  Whiskey-jacks  scolded 
from  tree-tops,  and  snow-buntings  and  gros- 
beaks hopped  about  in  search  of  food.  Squir- 
rels, too,  ventured  curiously  from  their  snug 
holes,  and  once  the  sledge  crossed  a  wind- 
protected  spot  where  caribou  had  yarded  up. 

June  and  Gertrude  trudged  abreast  on  op- 


288  Star  of  the  North 

posite  sides  of  the  gee-pole,  silent  at  first  in 
the  constraint  of  their  re-association.  But  as 
the  minutes  passed,  the  girl  made  crisp  sugges- 
tions; showed  the  other  how  to  use  her  snow- 
shoes  with  less  effort  and  more  comfort; 
warned  her  to  loosen  her  furs  at  the  throat 
when  she  grew  warm,  to  prevent  overheating ; 
told  her  to  breathe  through  the  nose  and  talk 
little  in  fear  of  the  action  of  great  cold  upon 
the  tissues  of  the  lungs,  which  results  in  a 
swift  and  fatal  pneumonia. 

Gertrude  trudged  resolutely.  If  ever  in 
a  pampered  and  ease-loving  life  she  had  de- 
termined to  accomplish  a  purpose,  it  was 
now.  Warned  in  advance  of  the  hardships  to 
be  expected,  she  faced  them  doggedly.  Aware 
that  her  presence  in  the  party  was  unwelcome, 
and  that  she  had  forced  its  acceptance  with 
deceit,  she  realized  that  she  could  look  for 
neither  help  nor  sympathy  from  the  Magregors. 

In  moments  when  the  thrashing  gee-pole 
did  not  claim  all  her  attention,  June  thought 
with  dull  passivity  of  the  future.  What 
would  be  the  effect  on  their  lives  of  this 


The  First  Stop  289 

woman's  arrival  at  Graphic  Camp?  At  least 
it  would  swiftly  and  finally  end  her  suspense 
and  pain,  she  conceded — a  barren  comfort. 

Mainly  her  thoughts  were  not  for  herself, 
but  for  the  man  she  loved.  June's  own  experi- 
ences with  Gertrude  had  revealed  the  hidden 
tragedy  of  Paul's  life  even  while  they  had 
restored  her  faith  in  his  fundamental  honour, 
and  she  could  understand  now  the  moments  of 
dark  depression  that  had  gripped  him  so  often 
during  their  early  acquaintance.  And  this 
woman  would  reopen  and  continue  that  vol- 
ume of  his  life  that  he  had  closed  forever! 

She  imagined  Gertrude's  descent  upon  the 
camp,  and  with  a  kind  of  prophetic  vision  saw 
her  moving  through  its  busy  harmony  like  an 
embodied  Discontent,  the  inevitable  foam  of 
trouble  seething  in  her  wake. 

And  what  would  it  all  bring  to  June  herself? 
She  did  not  know,  but  she  faced  the  event  with 
a  courage  strong  with  faith  and  hope,  and  most 
of  all,  love.  Life  presented  a  bitter  and  inex- 
plicable aspect  to  her  that  day,  strangely 

different  from  the  innocent,  girlish  face  of  six 
19 


290  Star  of  the  North 

months  before,  so  far  had  she  travelled  and  so 
much  had  she  lived  since  then. 

Gertrude,  because  speech  was  dangerous, 
had  to  be  content  with  pluming  herself  silently 
upon  her  success.  During  that  long  night  vigil 
in  the  Stellar  Camp,  she  had  earnestly  sought 
the  course  of  action  which  would  yield  her  the 
most,  and  had  finally  decided  that  it  lay  in 
return  to  her  husband.  Her  recent  defeat  of 
the  Magregors  added  much  to  her  satisfaction. 

These  matters  occupied  her  thoughts  for  the 
first  hour.  Then,  panting  after  a  long,  heavy 
climb  she  paused  for  breath  on  the  crest  of  a 
hill.  Instantly  the  sledge  had  glided  past  her 
and  she  was  in  its  wake  with  distance  steadily 
widening  between  them.  Jim,  the  dogs,  and 
June  went  on  without  an  instant's  pause. 
Steadily,  monotonously,  without  haste,  they 
pushed  on  at  their  unchanging  pace,  a  pace 
that,  though  it  held  something  in  reserve,  ate 
up  the  miles  like  the  lope  of  a  wolf.  They 
could  and  would  maintain  this  pace  for  days. 

Gertrude  ran  a  few  yards  to  catch  up  again. 
Then  she  noticed  that  the  snow  behind  the 


The  First  Stop  291 

sledge  was  smoother  and  harder-packed  than 
the  unbroken  trail  beside  the  gee-pole,  and 
did  not  push  up  to  her  former  position.  But 
even  here  she  was  breathing  hard  and  glowing 
with  the  violent  exercise. 

Presently  muscles  long  unused  commenced 
to  send  out  their  first  signals  of  distress.  Her 
snow-shoes  occasionally  crossed,  causing  her  to 
stumble.  A  particularly  careless  step  and  she 
fell  prone,  but  the  next  instant  was  up,  with  a 
laughing  sally  at  her  clumsiness. 

The  others  apparently  had  not  heard.  Al- 
ready they  were  ten  yards  ahead.  No  one 
had  hesitated — had  even  looked  around.  On 
they  went,  doggedly,  at  that  steady,  killing 
pace. 

As  she  ran  again  to  overtake  them,  Gertrude 
experienced  a  flash  of  anger.  Didn't  they 
know  she  wasn't  used  to  this  sort  of  thing? 
They  might  at  least  make  allowances!  Then 
she  recalled  her  difficult  position  and,  setting 
her  teeth,  plodded  on. 

At  last,  when  she  felt  that  she  must  rest  or 
fall  down  in  her  tracks,  the  factor  looked  at 


292  Star  of  the  North 

his  watch  and  spoke  sharply  to  the  dogs. 
They  halted  at  once,  and  Jim  Albert  turned 
back  for  the  first  time  since  the  start.  Evi- 
dently it  was  noon.  The  Indian  at  once 
commenced  to  chop  wood  for  the  fire  while 
June  loosened  the  pack  on  the  sledge.  Ger- 
trude, arriving  a  few  seconds  after  the  halt, 
summoned  a  smile  and  sank  down  in  the  snow 
beside  the  sledge,  too  tired  to  speak. 

' '  Only  half  an  hour, ' '  said  the  factor.  ' '  We 
don't  make  much  headway  in  this  going." 
Then,  turning  to  his  guest  with  perfunctory 
courtesy,  "Feeling  all  right,  Mrs.  Temple?" 

"Oh,  fine!"  she  replied,  gallantly.  Then, 
faint  with  the  mortal  hunger  that  accom- 
panied her  exhaustion,  suggested:  "But  say, 
don't  you  want  to  use  some  of  the  grub  I 
brought?  You  might  find  it  a  kind  of  a 
change." 

Magregor  hesitated. 

"Why, — yes, "  he  acceded,  "though  we 
haven't  time  to  eat  much.  June,  ye  might 
open  that  bag." 

The  girl  untied  the  string  at  the  neck,  and 


The  First  Stop  293 

reaching  in  her  hand  pulled  out  an  object  at 
which  she  stared  in  perplexed  wonder:  It 
was  a  can  wrapped  in  fancy  paper,  upon  which 
one  significant  word  stood  out  boldly.  It  was 

TRUFFLES 

June  sat  rigid  for  an  instant,  undecided 
whether  to  laugh  or  cry,  the  thing  was  so 
hopeless  and  yet  so  characteristic.  Gertrude 
watched  her  in  pleased  expectancy. 

Then  the  girl  tried  again,  and  this  time 
brought  out  a  bottle  of  olives,  the  liquor  of 
which  had  frozen  and  burst  the  glass. 

An  awful  silence  fell  as  she  proceeded  to 
empty  the  sack.  Worthless  article  after 
worthless  article  followed  until  at  the  end  the 
only  supplies  of  any  value  were  a  loaf  of  bread 
and  two  tins  of  meat.  Obviously,  at  the  first 
chance  Gertrude  had  done  her  best  to  enlarge 
the  poverty-stricken  diet  of  her  benefactors. 

Magregor,  only  too  well  aware  of  what  this 
pitiful  display  meant  to  them  all,  did  not 
speak  for  a  moment.  Then  he  said  in  an  even 
voice: 


294  Star  of  the  North 

"Throw  all  that  stuff  away  except  the  bread 
and  meat.  I'm  afraid  of  it,  and  it  weighs  too 
much  even  to  carry.  And  Jim,  this  cuts  us 
down  so  much  we  can't  eat  this  noon.  Boil 
tea." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

LOVE   WATCHES 

GRAPHIC  could  scarcely  contain  it- 
self that  morning.  Tom  Briscoe,  rising  in 
his  place  at  breakfast,  had  announced  that  the 
end  was  in  sight,  that  another  week  would 
finish  the  work  and  conclude  this  Siberian 
exile.  Then  for  New  York!  The  instant's 
breathless  silence  that  had  greeted  the  words 
was  ended  by  a  roof -lifting  yell  during  which 
Goldie  Burke  commenced  to  weep  into  her 
corn-meal  mush. 

"I  could  marry  that  man!"  she  sobbed, 
almost  unbalanced  by  joy,  a  fact  she  admitted 
later  when  taxed  with  her  words.  "  Oh,  Lord ! 
to  see  the  Big  Light  again  and  hear  the  Big 
Noise!  There'll  be  little  things  on  wheels  to 
ride  in,  an'  food  to  eat,  an'  places  to  go. 
Nothing  I've  got  but  my  union  suits  will  be  in 

295 


296  Star  of  the  North 

style,  but  I  don't  care.  They  can  dress  me 
up  like  an  orphan  if  they'll  only  let  me  see  an 
afternoon  extry,  an'  watch  the  crowds  on 
Broadway  after  the  Saturday  matunnay.  I 
could  die  happy  suffocated  with  gasoline  on 
Fifth  Avenoo!" 

This  picture  proved  too  touching,  and  fresh 
tears  rolled  down  to  the  end  of  her  reddened 
nose. 

Elsie  Tanner  on  her  right,  sympathized 
mechanically,  but  her  soft  eyes  were  dark  with 
pain.  These  had  been  happy  weeks  for  her. 
Because  she  was  near  to  Paul,  thrown  into  the 
unavoidable  intimacy  of  the  camp,  she  had 
found  his  cheery,  friendly  indifference  a  bitter- 
sweet comfort.  And  now  it  must  end.  With 
a  break-up  would  come  separation,  and  the 
starved  pleasure  of  occasional  studio  meetings. 
She  wished  bitterly  that  some  great  blizzard 
would  come  and  snow  them  in  forever. 

Baillie,  seated  near  a  window  at  one  of  the 
long  tables,  greeted  the  announcement  with 
mingled  emotions.  From  one  standpoint  he 
could  not  get  back  to  New  York  soon  enough. 


Love  Watches  297 

Realizing  his  defeat  here,  he  wanted  matters 
ended  at  once,  and  a  new  hand  dealt  all  round. 
Yet  he  awaited  eagerly  June's  return.  He 
only  desired  one  thing  now :  to  see  her  face  as 
she  read  the  letter  from  Paul's  wife  he  had 
stolen  that  day  of  his  confinement  to  the  bunk- 
house. 

As  time  passed,  his  infatuation  for  June, 
thwarted  of  fulfilment,  had  cooled  suddenly 
and  completely,  as  such  feelings  do.  He 
wondered  how  he  could  have  lost  his  head  so 
over  "that  ignorant  little  backwoods  hick." 

"Lord, "  he  thought  sometimes,  "if  I'd  ever 
flashed  that  on  New  York,  the  town  would 
have  split  its  sides  laughing!" 

Now  he  only  asked  revenge,  and  he  would 
call  the  incident  closed.  His  smarting  pride 
and  self-esteem  demanded  assuagement;  to 
hurt  June  in  her  turn  and  see  her  writhe. 
And  incidentally  to  rowel  Temple  to  the  very 
vitals.  His  one  uneasiness  was  that  Temple 
would  discover  the  loss  of  the  letter  before  he 
could  use  it.  But  that  was  a  chance  he  had  to 
take,  so  he  thought  no  more  about  it. 


298  Star  of  the  North 

But  Temple's  mind  was  on  other  things 
than  rummaging  in  trunks  and  mooning  over 
his  wife's  letters.  In  fact  he  never  thought  of 
Gertrude  except  in  connection  with  the  confes- 
sion he  must  make  when  June  returned.  He 
was  too  busy.  "A  Wilderness  Idyl"  was 
finished,  and  the  company  was  uniting  in  a 
final  spurt  to  clear  up  the  short  stuff  Briscoe 
had  laid  out.  Three  small  companies  were  at 
work  simultaneously,  two  of  them  with  prom- 
ising minor  people  in  the  leads — an  example 
of  Briscoe's  methods  to  inspire  loyalty  and 
ambition — and  the  company  would  return 
with  enough  snow  stuff  to  vary  the  regular 
Graphic  program  for  a  year.  Paul  himself 
both  directed  and  acted. 

Briscoe's  announcement  had  startled  Paul 
a  little.  It  brought  home  to  him  concretely 
the  realization  of  how  little  time  remained  for 
him  to  settle  the  great  problem  of  his  life.  He 
and  June  must  understand  each  other  finally 
before  he  left  the  North.  Whether  the  com- 
pany moved  out  on  the  day  specified  or  not,  he 
knew  he  would  not  go  until  he  had  seen  her. 


Love  Watches  299 

Today  her  continued  absence  worried  him. 
It  was  the  tenth  day  since  her  departure,  and 
she  had  told  him  that  with  ordinary  luck 
the  journey  to  rescue  her  father  should  not 
take  more  than  seven.  Crushing  down  a 
natural  anxiety,  Paul  had  managed  to  lose 
himself  in  his  work  and  pass  that  week.  Then 
on  the  eighth  day,  hearing  nothing,  he  had 
gone  down  to  Fort  McLeod  to  interview  the 
Indians. 

Maria  and  old  Hawkbill  her  husband  had 
reassured  him:  no  reason  to  worry  yet;  with 
Jim  and  Missy  nothing  could  happen  to  the 
factor ;  though  their  plans  should  miscarry,  yet 
they  could  meet  any  emergency  that  might 
arise ;  they  knew  the  country  and  the  neces- 
sities of  winter  travel  too  well;  still,  if  they 
hadn't  come  in  three  or  four  days,  there  might 
be  some  cause  for  uneasiness. 

This  was  the  third  day  and  Paul  was  anxious. 
Owing  to  the  fact  that  the  weather  at  Camp 
Graphic  had  been  uniformly  good  except  for  a 
few  cloudy  days  and  a  flurry  of  snow,  he  could 
not  imagine  what  had  delayed  the  travellers 


300  Star  of  the  North 

except  an  accident.  He  determined  to  visit 
the  Fort  again  at  once. 

Committing  a  sort  of  treason,  he  dismissed 
his  company  in  mid-afternoon,  and  tramped 
the  two  miles  on  snow-shoes  with  steadily 
increasing  apprehension.  He  found  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  post  with  paths  cleared  and  fires 
burning,  and  both  Indians  in  the  big  warm 
kitchen.  At  the  first  mention  of  the  matter 
that  had  brought  him,  he  found  a  response  to 
his  uneasy  mood. 

'Gone  too  long,"  admitted  John  Hawkbill, 
shaking  his  head.  "Afraid  now  mebbe  some- 
thing happen.  Big  storms  there."  He  in- 
dicated the  north. 

"But  Ju — Miss  Magregor  took  plenty  of 
grub." 

"No  grub  plenty  this  country." 

Temple  was  greatly  disturbed. 

"Well,  what  can  we  do?  We  must  do 
something." 

"If  they  not  come  today,  start  men  after 
'em." 

Temple  thought. 


Love  Watches  301 

"Can  you  go?  Have  you  got  a  good  dog- 
team  here?"  he  asked. 

The  other  grunted.  "Young  dogs.  Not 
much  good.  It  would  take  two  days 
to  round  up  trappers  to  go  with  him,"  he 
added.  . 

Paul  exclaimed  sharply.  This  would  not  do 
at  all.  From  that  moment  he  forgot  every- 
thing except  June's  possible  peril.  He  paced 
the  low,  smoke-stained  kitchen  for  a  minute. 
Then  he  spoke  with  new  decision. 

"We've  got  a  dog- team  at  the  camp,  two  of 
them,  and  good  ones,"  he  said,  and  recalled 
that  the  animals  would  not  be  needed  in  the 
remaining  pictures.  "We've  got  a  sledge  and 
young  Peter  to  drive  them.  I'm  going  to  start 
north  after  Miss  Magregor  and  the  factor 
tomorrow  morning.  Have  you  got  plenty  of 
grub  here?" 

"Yes." 

"All  right.  I'll  see  how  we're  fixed  at  camp 
and  if  we  need  any  we'll  call  on  you. " 

A  look  of  relief  passed  over  the  Indian's 
leathery  face. 


302  Star  of  the  North 

"But  mebbe  they  come  tonight,"  he  sug- 
gested. 

"  I've  thought  of  that.  We'll  start  at  dawn 
tomorrow  and  drive  here.  If  you  haven't 
heard  anything — Jim  Albert  might  come  on 
ahead,  you  know, — we'll  go  right  on.  And  we 
can  take  on  your  grub  if  we  need  it.  Have  it 
ready,  will  you?  And  some  extra  blankets 
and  a  flask  of  whiskey?" 

Hawkbill  assented. 

Temple  at  once  returned  to  camp,  his  mind 
haunted  by  torturing  pictures.  He  imagined 
June  starving  or  hurt,  lying  helpless,  perhaps, 
in  some  bleak  shelter,  wondering  in  her  pain 
why  he  did  not  come.  He  pictured  the  little 
party  fighting  for  their  lives  with  the  great 
grey  timber  wolves,  whose  weird  ululations 
he  had  heard  sometimes  at  night  as  a  travelling 
pack  swept  by  in  the  distance.  Such  things 
were  not  unheard-of.  Pierre,  the  wood-cutter 
at  camp,  had  ghastly  tales  to  tell  of  trappers' 
clean  bones  discovered  in  the  spring  after  the 
snow  had  gone. 

It  was  dark  when  he  arrived,  and  he  went 


"Love  Watches  303 

directly  to  the  "office"  where  a  light  told  him 
that  Briscoe  was  at  work.  The  director  was 
seated  before  his  cheap  table,  tabulating  the 
results  of  the  day's  work,  and  looked  up 
sharply  from  under  a  green  eyeshade  at  the 
other's  entrance. 

"Hullo,  Paul!"  A  moment's  stare.  "What's 
the  matter?  Seen  a  ghost?" 

"No." 

Temple  closed  the  door  and  probed  the 
shadows  quickly  for  a  chance  visitor.  Then 
he  told  what  had  transpired  that  afternoon 
and  the  action  he  had  promised. 

Briscoe  listened  with  more  than  casual 
interest.  He  had  not  forgotten  that  unmen- 
tioned  visit  of  his  to  Fort  McLeod  when  he  had 
offered  to  make  June  great  under  his  direction. 
Though  she  had  put  him  off  then,  and  had 
given  no  definite  answer  since,  he  still  clung 
to  the  idea  tenaciously.  At  the  top  of  his 
profession,  with  fame  and  fortune  assured,  it 
was  still  his  ambition  to  cause  one  supreme 
star  to  swim  into  the  dramatic  firmament,  to 
"discover"  a  great  artist. 


304  Star  of  the  North 

Whether  June  was  of  the  requisite  calibre, 
he  did  not  know,  but  intuition  urged  him  to 
make  the  trial,  and  therein  lay  his  present 
interest  in  Paul's  narrative. 

But  one  thing  made  him  scowl  as  the  story 
went  on;  that  was  Temple's  obvious  love  for 
June.  No  influence  that  played  upon  his 
people  annoyed  Briscoe  as  did  ' '  this  love  busi- 
ness." And  if  he  were  to  make  anything  of 
June,  this  fol-de-rol  must  be  forgotten.  Give 
him  a  year  in  which  this  girl  should  be  his,  to 
do  with  absolutely  as  he  would,  and  he  would 
abide  by  the  public's  decision.  But  in  that 
year  there  must  be  no  love,  no  interest  outside 
of  work  and  himself.  This  was  his  dream  as 
Paul  told  of  the  relief  expedition  he  had  prom- 
ised, and  it  was  characteristic  of  him  that  while 
June  might  be  dying  by  inches  in  the  wilder- 
ness he  was  living  in  the  glory  of  his  great 
ambition. 

"What?"  he  stammered,  vaguely,  when  the 
other  ended.  "Oh,  yes,  sure  you  did  right 
to  offer  the  sledge  and  dogs.  Sure!  Couldn't 
in  decency  do  anything  else.  But  they'll 


Love  Watches  305 

have  to  supply  the  grub. ' '  He  got  up  from  the 
table,  a  thick,  square  chunk  of  a  man,  and 
commenced  striding  up  and  down  the  con- 
fined space  with  that  intense  energy  that  never 
left  him  even  after  a  twenty-hour  day's  work. 

"Of  course  you'll  go? "  he  shot  out. 

"Yes." 

"Who'll  you  take  with  you?" 

"Peter,  the  Indian  dog- trainer,  and  Welch, 
one  of  the  trappers. " 

"They  figure  the  Magregors  are  in  a  tight 
place?" 

"Yes;  something  must  have  happened  or 
they  would  have  got  back  by  this  time. " 

"  H'm ! "  Briscoe  walked  up  and  down,  and 
presently  his  eyes  lighted.  ' '  Starving  maybe, " 
he  mused,  eagerly,  "falling  down  one  by  one, 
but  fighting  on  because  the  spark  of  life  won't 
die;  famished  dogs,  and  the  old  factor  lyin' 
there  communin'  with  his  Presbyterian  soul. 
Great!  Great!" 

Paul  looked  at  him  murderously.  For  the 
first  time  in  their  long  association  he  longed  to 
get  his  hands  on  that  thick  bull-neck. 


20 


306  Star  of  the  North 

"Gad,  I'll  do  it!"  shouted  the  director. 
"Gene  Perkins  and  his  camera  go  with  you. 
If  he  gets  some  good  realistic  stuff  we  can 
use  it  for  the  punch  of  a  one-reel  thriller,  and 
whip  the  rest  of  it  into  shape  before  we  start 
home,  even  if  we  have  to  stay  over  another 
day.  Let's  see — what  can  we  have  for  a 
story?  H'm!  H'm!  ...  By  thunder, 
how's  this  for  a  situation!" 

"Everything's  all  right.  We  go  then?" 
Paul  interrupted  him. 

"Yes,  yes,  go  to  hell, "  snarled  the  big  man 
in  the  throes  of  inspiration,  and  Paul  hurried 
out. 

The  next  morning  at  dawn  they  started; 
Peter,  Welch,  Temple,  and  Perkins,  with  an 
eight-dog  team.  No  one  except  the  cooks 
watched  them  go,  for  Paul  had  made  a  secret 
of  the  journey.  At  McLeod,  Maria  and  John 
were  waiting  with  the  supplies  packed.  They 
had  heard  no  word  since  the  afternoon  before ; 
no  one  had  come. 

While  the  sledge  was  being  loaded  they  dis- 
cussed routes.  Jim  Albert  had  outlined  to 


Love  Watches  307 

Maria  his  approximate  trail  home,  on  the  day 
of  his  arrival  with  news  of  the  factor's  injury, 
but  there  was  no  certainty  that  he  would 
follow  it  exactly  now.  Even  should  he  do  so, 
those  going  north  could  not  be  sure  of  meet- 
ing him.  The  parties  might  camp  within  half 
a  mile  of  each  other  and  be  unaware  of  the 
fact,  unless  one  crossed  the  other's  trails.  On 
the  other  hand,  Peter  and  Welch  knew  the 
country  well  and  could  not  go  far  wrong. 

"All  ready?"  said  Paul  at  last.  "Get  off 
that  sledge,  Perkins. "  The  languid  one  had 
taken  part  neither  in  the  loading  or  the  dis- 
cussion. He  arose  with  a  reproachful  look. 

"All  ready,"  returned  Welch  in  his  place 
ahead  of  the  dogs. 

Peter  cracked  his  whip  and  they  were  off. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE   BITTER  TRAIL 

I IM  ALBERT  knelt  beside  the  inert  body  on 
the  snow  and  shook  it,  rolling  it  back  and 
forth.     And  as  he  rolled,  he  spoke,  repeating 
the  same  words  over  and  over. 

"Grub  ready;  we  go  now;  hurry  up. " 
It  was  the  black  hour  before  dawn.  The 
burdened  trees  that  stood  motionless  about 
the  little  clearing  were  illumined  fitfully  by 
the  camp-fire.  Above,  the  stars  coruscated 
like  diamonds  through  an  atmosphere  that 
seemed  as  clear  and  cold  as  the  interstellar 
ether  itself.  By  the  fire  June  knelt  cooking 
something  in  a  skillet.  A  tin  tea-pot  balanced 
crazily  on  two  stones  nearby,  and  the  factor, 
his  face  strangely  livid  and  expressionless, 
reclined  against  a  tree. 

Steadily  Jim  rolled  the  inert  body. 
308 


The  Bitter  Trail  309 

At  last  there  came  a  faint  sound,  and  he 
ceased,  to  look  down  into  a  pair  of  glazed 
eyes,  open  but  uncomprehending. 

"Grub  ready;  we  go  now;  get  up." 

Again  the  sound.  Then  the  eyes  cleared 
gradually  and  Gertrude  tried  to  move.  But 
she  lay  helpless  as  if  cast  in  some  mould,  only 
the  heaving  of  her  chest  revealing  the  intensity 
of  her  effort. 

"Gawd!"  she  gasped.  "Help  me,  can't 
you!" 

Obediently  Jim  Albert  loosened  the  sleeping- 
bag  and  raised  her  to  a  sitting  posture  where 
she  remained  a  few  moments  panting.  The 
famished  dogs,  running  about  the  circle  of 
firelight,  their  eyes  on  the  hissing  skillet, 
caused  spokes  of  shadow  to  revolve  among 
the  trees.  With  the  Indian's  help  Gertrude 
struggled  to  her  feet.  Her  furs  were  torn  and 
dirty,  her  wasted  face  dark  with  grime  and  ex- 
haustion. Great  shadows  encircled  her  heavy 
eyes,  and  a  frowsy  strand  of  discoloured  hair 
protruded  from  her  parka. 

"  Breakfast's  ready. " 


310  Star  of  the  North 

June  poured  out  the  re-steepings  of  last 
night's  tea-leaves,  and  served  the  pitiful 
portions  of  food,  after  which  she  carried  her 
father's  share  to  him. 

Gertrude  made  her  way  towards  the  fire 
with  stiff,  mechanical  movements,  dragging 
her  feet  across  the  snow.  At  the  smell  of 
cooking  her  eyes  gleamed,  and  she  whimpered 
with  eagerness  as  June  held  out  her  plate. 
But  a  sudden  savagery  leaped  from  her  like  a 
darting  flame  when  she  saw  what  it  contained. 

"You  devil!"  she  snarled,  between  parched 
lips.  "Think  I  don't  know  you're  trying 
to  kill  me!  Because  I'm  weak.  .  .  .  The 
three  of  you  against  me!  .  .  . 

June  turned  away,  and  neither  of  the  others 
spoke.  For  three  days,  numb  and  helpless, 
they  had  seen  first  the  rebellion,  and  then  the 
breakdown  of  Gertrude  Temple.  This  was 
the  morning  of  the  fourth  day,  and  because  of 
her,  they  were  little  more  than  half-way  to 
Fort  McLeod.  Unanswered,  communing  bit- 
terly with  herself,  Gertrude  wolfed  the  food 
and  threw  the  plate  to  the  ground. 


The  Bitter  Trail  311 

While  Jim  got  the  dogs  into  harness,  June 
washed  the  dishes,  rolled  up  the  sleeping- 
things,  and  packed  the  sledge.  Then  the  two 
lifted  Fleming  Magregor  aboard  and  turned  to 
Gertrude.  She  stood  waiting,  supporting  her- 
self against  a  tree  trunk. 

Nothing  was  said.  Jim  Albert  mushed  on 
the  dogs  and  the  haggard  procession  started. 
There  was  no  barking  or  leaping  against  the 
traces  now;  the  dogs'  heads  swung  low  and 
their  bushy  tails  drooped.  Their  little  bells 
tinkled  on  with  stupid  gaiety.  The  Indian 
did  not  go  ahead  now,  but  walked  by  the  gee- 
pole.  June  plodded  behind,  and  Gertrude 
followed  as  best  she  could. 

Once  clear  of  camp,  Jim  Albert  found  better 
going.  The  day  before  a  Chinook  had  blown 
from  the  west  causing  a  surface  thaw,  and  the 
night  cold  had  frozen  a  snow-crust  that  bore 
the  sledge  and  those  afoot.  They  would  go 
faster  with  this  help. 

With  June  hanging  to  the  tail-rope,  the 
sledge  skidded  down  a  bank  to  the  level,  snow- 
covered  surface  of  a  frozen  stream  and  the 


312  Star  of  the  North 

dogs  stepped  out  more  briskly.  June  looked 
behind  her.  Gertrude,  walking  mechanically 
down  the  treacherous  incline,  slipped  and  fell. 
She  fell  unresistingly  like  a  child  that  is  learn- 
ing to  walk.  Then  after  a  moment  she  got  up 
again  with  difficulty  and  came  on.  There  was 
something  uncanny,  somnambulistic  in  her 
progress.  She  moved  with  eyes  staring  ahead, 
arms  hanging  at  her  sides,  legs  moving  slowly 
like  a  machine  that  is  running  down. 

June's  work  with  the  sledge  required  all  her 
strength  and  attention  in  the  woods,  but  on 
open  stretches  such  as  this  she  could  give  a 
little  time  to  Gertrude.  Now  she  returned 
and  thrust  a  steadying  hand  under  the  other's 
arm. 

But  Gertrude  flung  her  off. 

"Let  me  alone,"  she  said,  thickly.  "I 
don't  want  your  help. " 

"But  we'll  get  there  so  much  quicker  if  we 
go  faster,"  June  explained  with  monotonous 
patience.  Gertrude  commenced  to  cry. 

Later  when  they  left  the  river  June  returned 
to  the  sledge,  but  Gertrude  could  not  climb 


The  Bitter  Trail  313 

the  steep  bank,  and  both  she  and  Jim  had 
to  help  her. 

For  an  hour  she  struggled  along,  her  face 
bearing  the  unmistakable  signs  of  approaching 
exhaustion,  eyes  half-closed,  cheeks  drawn, 
mouth  open. 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry  for  her,"  said  the  factor,  who 
chafed  and  raged  at  his  forced  inactivity,  "but 
she  would  come.  An'  the  worst  is  she's  not 
only  killing  herself  but  she's  killing  us.  But 
for  her  we'd  have  been  home  by  now. " 

It  was  the  truth,  and  Gertrude  seemed  to 
realize  it.  Nothing  else  could  account  for  the 
incredible  fortitude  with  which  she  forced 
herself  along.  And  yet  there  was  something 
else,  and  she  revealed  it  another  time  when 
June  tried  to  help  her. 

"I  will  get  to  him,"  she  had  panted,  with 
feverishly  blazing  eyes.  "What  are  you  help- 
ing me  for?  Where  are  you  taking  me?  You 
shan't  have  him,  I  tell  you!" 

Gradually  she  commenced  to  fall  back.  At 
the  end  of  half  an  hour  she  was  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  behind.  Jim  halted  the  dogs  and  they 


314  Star  of  the  North 

all  waited.  There  was  nothing  else  to  do. 
They  could  not  turn  back.  Jim's  route,  while 
the  shortest,  led  away  from  the  usual  winter 
trails,  and  their  chance  of  encountering  a 
traveller  was  small.  To  deviate  now  to  some 
trapper's  cabin  only  to  find  that  he  had  left  for 
more  favourable  grounds  would  be  taking  too 
great  a  risk.  Only  one  course  lay  open  to 
them — to  fight  on. 

When  Gertrude  came  up  at  last  they  waited 
a  few  precious  minutes  longer  and  then  started 
the  dogs.  Now  they  entered  a  region  across 
which  fire  had  swept  in  a  wave  twenty  miles 
wide.  Bare,  blackened  tree  trunks  protruded 
from  the  snow.  There  was  nothing  else, 
no  undergrowth  or  signs  of  life ;  it  was  a  coun- 
try of  absolute  death  where  Jim  Albert  knew 
his  daily  wide  circuit  in  search  of  game  would 
be  futile. 

It  had  proved  futile  every  other  day,  ex- 
cept for  a  rabbit  or  two,  for  year  by  year  the 
good  game  country  moved  farther  north,  and 
this  region  was  thinning  fast.  Jim's  hope  was 
for  a  chance-found  herd  of  caribou  or  moose, 


The  Bitter  Trail  315 

pawing  for  moss  beneath  the  snow  of  the 
muskeg  barrens,  but  the  one  time  he  had 
sighted  such  a  herd  the  animals  had  fled 
before  he  could  get  within  range. 

As  time  passed,  the  waits  for  Gertrude  be- 
came more  frequent,  and  longer.  Through 
it  all  she  remained  mute,  like  some  tortured 
animal,  struggling  forward  with  sharp,  pant- 
ing breaths  that  sounded  harsh  in  the  sur- 
rounding stillness.  Then  about  ten  o'clock 
she  fell,  and  when  the  others  set  her  on 
her  feet,  could  not  walk,  but  fell  again,  help- 
lessly. 

June  and  Jim  Albert  looked  at  each  other, 
startled.  This  point  of  collapse  had  been 
reached  every  day  of  the  journey  except  the 
first,  and  each  time  at  an  earlier  hour,  but 
always  in  the  afternoon.  The  writing  in  the 
sky  was  growing  plainer.  The  two  half- 
dragged,  half-carried  Gertrude  to  the  sledge, 
and  carefully  shifting  the  factor,  crowded  her 
in  beside  him.  Then,  taking  ropes  attached 
one  on  each  side,  they  called  on  the  dogs. 
The  animals  strained  at  their  double  load, 


316  Star  of  the  North 

and  with  the  other  two  tugging  like  draft 
horses  at  the  ropes,  they  went  on. 

On  level  stretches  they  made  good  progress, 
but  in  the  rough  going  of  the  woods,  the  crust 
was  not  strong  enough  to  support  such  weight, 
and  the  runners  broke  through  first  on  one  side 
and  then  on  the  other.  Then,  as  if  it  had 
been  a  mired  vehicle,  the  two  afoot  would 
manoeuvre  to  extricate  it,  sometimes  having 
to  lift  the  helpless  woman  off  before  they  could 
get  the  sledge  upon  the  crust  again. 

It  was  cruel  work.  The  dogs,  giving  the 
best  they  knew,  steamed  and  panted.  June, 
for  all  her  splendid  fitness  and  endurance,  only 
possessed  of  a  woman's  strength,  felt  the  slow, 
leaden  lassitude  of  exhaustion  stealing  over 
muscles  and  nerves.  This  thing  could  not  go 
on  long,  she  knew. 

Only  the  Indian  remained  undaunted,  able 
still  to  match  strength  and  cunning  against 
the  forces  that  were  gradually  closing  upon 
them.  In  this  ultimate  test  of  fitness  to 
environment,  he  triumphed.  He  was  the 
anchor  about  which  they  swung.  Should  he 


The  Bitter  Trail  317 

fail  or  accident  come,  their  case  would  be 
desperate  indeed .... 

Now  as  noon  approached,  another  element 
began  to  make  itself  felt.  Though  the  warmth 
of  the  low-hanging  sun  was  feeble,  yet  it 
proved  sufficient  with  the  warm  wind  to  soften 
the  snow-crust,  and  now  the  sledge  broke 
through  continuously,  bringing  the  dogs  up 
with  a  jerk. 

At  last,  on  one  of  these  occasions  the  final 
misfortune  occurred.  The  sledge  careened 
so  suddenly  that  Gertrude  was  flung  heavily 
half-across  the  factor  upon  his  broken  leg. 
His  shout  of  agony  brought  the  others  and, 
while  he  sat  with  livid  face,  the  inert  form  was 
lifted  off,  and  June  and  Jim  Albert  examined 
the  injury.  The  splints  had  been  moved,  and 
the  newly  knitting  bone  wrenched.  How 
serious  the  damage  might  be  they  did  not 
know,  but  it  was  obvious  that  this  method 
of  travel  must  be  abandoned  and  another 
devised.  They  had  reached  the  impasse. 

As  noon  was  so  near,  they  made  their  camp 
and  boiled  tea,  and  while  they  drank  it,  sodden 


3i8  Star  of  the  North 

with  weariness,  they  discussed  the   question. 

"Let's  try  this,  father,"  June  suggested,  at 
last.  ' '  Let  Jim  drive  you  on  two  or  three  miles 
and  leave  you.  I'll  wait  here  with  Mrs. 
Temple  till  Jim  can  drive  back  and  get  her. 
It  will  be  slow,  but " 

"And  ask  the  dogs  to  travel  nine  miles  to 
gain  three?"  asked  Magregor,  gently.  "No, 
June,  that  won't  save  us.  With  the  grub 
we've  got  we  might  as  well  stay  here  and  face 
things  out. "  He  shut  his  eyes  for  a  moment, 
and  his  face  seemed  very  grey.  Though  the 
others  had  suffered  on  this  journey,  his 
torments,  both  physical  and  mental  had  been 
infinitely  greater. 

After  a  few  moments  of  silence  his  eyes 
opened  and  he  spoke  again  cheerfully,  almost 
gaily. 

"After  all,  it's  quite  simple,"  he  said. 
"Why  didn't  I  think  of  it  before?  You 
three  hurry  on  down  to  the  Fort  for  help,  and 
leave  me  behind.  I'll  make  out  grand,  I 
know. " 

June  looked  at  him  quickly,  undeceived  by 


The  Bitter  Trail  319 

the  lightness  with  which  he  offered  the  sacri- 
fice. To  leave  him  now  after  his  recent  hurt 
was  unthinkable,  and  the  words  of  refusal 
were  on  her  tongue  when  Gertrude,  who  had 
sat  huddled  on  the  snow  like  some  broken 
Buddha,  raised  her  bleared  eyes  and  spoke. 

"Forget  it,"  she  croaked.  "If  anybody's 
goin'  to  stay,  I  am.  I'm  done.  I  can't 
take  another  step,  and  I  won't."  She  licked 
her  cracked  lips,  staring  weakly  from  one  to 
another.  "God,  I'm  tired!  I  can't  walk. 
I  can't,  I  tell  you!  What  do  you  expect  of 
me  anyway? "  Two  ready  tears  coursed  down 
her  cheeks.  "That  damn  sledge!  I'd  sooner 
die  than  touch  it  again. " 

"But  we  oughtn't  to  leave  you,  Mrs. 
Temple,"  said  June,  hopelessly.  "We'll  get 
along  somehow.  We'll " 

The  other  turned  on  her. 

"What  do  you  talk  like  that  for?  You 
know,  you  want  to  leave  me.  You  want  me 
to  die."  She  paused,  a  moment  and  then 
added  with  incredible  bitterness:  "You  win. 
Ain't  that  enough  for  you?"  Then  the 


320  Star  of  the  North 

torment  of  her  outraged  body  overwhelmed 
her  again  sweeping  aside  all  considerations 
but  its  own  imperative  demand.  Every  nerve 
and  tissue  cried  aloud  in  agonized  protest. 
To  rest,  to  rest!  Ah,  nothing  mattered  now 
but  that !  Under  the  goad  her  mind  cringed 
with  the  cringing  of  her  flesh,  and  her  long 
purpose  of  revenge  grew  clouded,  wavered, 
and  at  last  broke.  Dazedly  she  turned  back 
to  the  factor.  "Go  on  without  me,  d'ye 
hear?  I've  wrecked  this  thing  like  you  said  I 
would,  but  nothing  could  have  stopped  me 
from  coming.  But  I'm  done  now.  I  can't 
move,  and  I  won't !  And  you  needn't  argue. 
I  won't  go.  I've  stood  all  I'm  goin*  to.  Do 
you  hear?  All  I'm  goin'  to!"  She  relapsed 
into  her  Buddha-like  attitude,  and  her  eyes 
closed. 

Magregor  did  not  argue.  He  merely 
shrugged  his  resignation,  and  once  more 
Gertrude  Temple  had  her  way  as  she  had 
always  had  it.  But  quite  without  a  thought 
or  word  for  his  uncalled-for  chivalry. 

"It's  best,"  he  said,  quietly,   "but  Mrs. 


The  Bitter  Trail  321 

Temple,  ye  need  be  in  no  danger.  Men  will 
start  back  for  ye  within  an  hour  after  we 
arrive.  We'll  leave  all  the  grub  here  but  a 
mouthful,  and  if  ye  bide  as  I  tell  ye,  ye'll  pull 
through  all  right. " 

Gertrude  made  no  reply,  and  Magregor 
commenced  to  plan,  his  lips  compressed. 

"Jim,  see  if  ye  can  find  some  shelter  for 
Mrs.  Temple.  We  haven't  time  to  build  one. 
And  June,  divide  the  provisions  and  blankets. " 

The  Indian  wasted  no  time.  Walking  along 
the  foot  of  the  rocky  hill,  a  spur  of  which  they 
had  rounded  before  the  halt,  he  examined  the 
snow-covered  slope  keenly. 

Fifty  feet  up  he  found  what  he  sought,  a 
natural  hollow  in  the  hillside,  almost  a  cave. 
With  wood  and  provisions  a  trapper  could  have 
held  out  there  indefinitely  in  actual  comfort. 
Reporting  his  find,  he  commenced  to  cut  a 
great  supply  of  dry  wood,  while  June  trans- 
ferred the  blankets  and  food  to  the  shelter. 
Finally,  they  half -carried  Gertrude  there,  and 
shook  her  from  her  stupor  into  a  state  of 
consciousness. 

ai 


322  Star  of  the  North 

"Sleep  all  you  like,"  June  told  her.  "If 
you  stay  in  the  sleeping-bag  and  protect  your 
face,  it  won't  matter  whether  the  fire  goes  out 
or  not.  You  have  plenty  of  matches  to  start 
another.  With  your  rifle  you  needn't  be 
afraid  of  anything;  nothing  will  harm  you. 
Make  your  grub  last  two  days.  The  men 
ought  to  be  here  on  the  third.  And  most  of 
all,  stay  where  you  are.  Don't  go  away.  The 
search  party  will  come  straight  here,  and  if 
you're  here  they'll  find  you.  It's  perfectly 
simple  and  you'll  be  quite  all  right. " 

Gertrude  nodded  mechanically.  She  seemed 
in  a  stupor.  June  repeated  her  instructions, 
and  then,  after  the  fire  was  blazing  brightly  on 
the  floor  of  the  cave,  she  returned  with  Jim 
to  the  sledge.  Ten  minutes  later  they  were 
off  on  the  last  desperate  lap  of  their  journey. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
/ 

TRAILS   CROSS 


hallucination.  She  seemed  to  be  in  her  New 
York  apartment,  that  place  of  luxury,  safety, 
and  laziness.  Still,  she  wondered  why  Yvonne 
hadn't  closed  the  windows  and  turned  on  the 
heat;  the  north-west  winds  sweeping  across 
the  Hudson  made  her  bedroom  very  cold,  she 
thought.  And  she  felt  strangely  weak  and 
hungry, — quite  certain  she  was  going  to  be 
ill. 

She  opened  her  sticky  eyes  with  difficulty 
and  the  vision  vanished  as  a  pale  yellow  sun 
blinded  her.  She  looked  up  to  see  the  over- 
hang of  the  little  cave  where  she  lay,  and  after 
a  dazed  moment  the  whole  ghastly  truth 
rushed  back.  And  in  the  gradual  realization 

323 


324  Star  of  the  North 

came  overwhelming  despair.  Tears  of  mis- 
ery rose  to  her  eyes.  What  would  become 
of  her?  What,  oh  what  had  she  done  to  earn 
this? 

Her  feelings  of  cold  and  hunger  increased 
until  dominant  instincts  in  her  urged  sharply 
to  self-preservation,  and  she  fought  her  way  up 
to  a  sitting  posture  despite  the  agony  of  her 
stiffened  muscles.  As  she  searched  for  matches 
she  remembered  that  the  sun  had  been  in  its 
present  position  when  she  saw  it  last.  She 
must  have  slept  the  clock  around. 

With  infinite  difficulty  and  pain  she  broke 
a  few  twigs  and  started  a  fire,  adding  larger 
and  larger  wood  as  it  grew.  The  heat  striking 
her  shrivelled,  grimy  hands  made  her  shiver 
gratefully.  She  found  she  was  thirsty  and 
filled  a  saucepan  with  clean  snow  to  melt. 

Everything  was  near  at  hand,  and  Gertrude 
did  not  walk.  She  hitched  about  her  narrow 
domain,  or  crawled  on  all  fours,  looking,  with 
her  tattered  furs  and  bedraggled,  unkempt 
hair,  like  some  creature  half-human,  half- 
animal — a  survivor  of  the  Cave  People. 


Trails  Cross  325 

With  trembling  eagerness  she  opened  the 
caribou-skin  grub-sack  at  her  side.  Hers  was 
not  the  sharp-toothed  hunger  of  health  nor  yet 
the  pain  of  fasting.  It  was  the  continuous, 
gnawing  torment  of  semi-starvation,  the  mor- 
tal anguish  of  dying  tissues. 

She  was  travelling  the  way  of  death  and  she 
knew  it,  and  the  sight  of  her  handful  of  provi- 
sions filled  her  with  a  sudden,  terrified  panic. 
Wild-eyed,  she  sat  trembling.  Was  she 
doomed  to  starve  here  by  inches?  God!  that 
couldn't  come  to  her.  No,  no!  The  thing 
was  preposterous;  it  didn't  happen  to  people  of 
her  class.  Some  poor  Indian  or  trapper,  per- 
haps, but  not  Gertrude  Temple,  known  up  and 
down  Broadway,  star  of  "A  Magdalene  of  the 
Snows." 

But  no!  Not  star  of  that,  any  more,  or  of 
anything.  Only  a  fallen  star  whirling  dizzily 
through  space  to  an  obscure  end.  .  .  . 

She  vaguely  recalled  that  she  must  stay  here 
three  days,  so  divided  her  provisions  into  three 
equal  parts.  Then  she  laughed  crazily  at 
the  sight.  What  nonsense  to  cook  three  times 


326  Star  of  the  North 

what  was  not  even  one  meal.  She  swept 
them  all  together  again. 

Jim  Albert  had  laid  the  few  stones  for  the 
fireplace,  and  now  the  saucepan  was  full  of 
tepid  water  from  the  melting  snow.  Gertrude 
drank  some,  set  some  aside  for  mixing  with  the 
flour,  and  put  the  rest  back  to  heat  for  tea. 
She  managed  to  balance  the  frying-pan  upon 
two  stones  in  the  midst  of  the  flames. 

Twenty  minutes  later  appetizing  odours 
filled  the  air,  and  she  sat  trembling  with 
eagerness,  her  eyes  a-glitter,  scarcely  able  to 
restrain  herself.  When  the  food  was  still 
underdone,  she  could  wait  no  longer,  but 
feverishly  helped  herself,  making  a  feeble  at- 
tempt to  take  only  the  allotted  third.  But, 
on  the  flood-tide  of  the  irresistible  instinct  to 
live,  she  failed.  Never  before  had  she  known 
the  necessity  for  iron  control,  and  it  was 
scarcely  to  be  expected  that  she  could  sum- 
mon it  now. 

When  she  had  finished,  half  the  food  was 
gone,  and  she  had  awakened  such  a  craving 
for  more  as  almost  conquered  her.  But  what 


Trails  Cross  327 

she  was  impotent  to  do  herself,  sudden  panic 
for  the  future  accomplished.  She  put  the 
remaining  food  away  but  continued  to  drink 
great  quantities  of  scalding  tea.  Its  warmth 
and  the  feeling  of  nourishment  she  experienced, 
made  her  drowsy,  and  throwing  fresh  wood  on 
the  fire,  she  crawled  back  into  her  sleeping- 
bag.  She  fell  at  once  into  a  sodden,  animal 
oblivion. 

When  she  awoke  next  it  was  night  and  she 
was  aching  from  head  to  foot.  There  were  no 
stars  in  the  sky,  and  the  air  was  damp, 
penetrating.  A  few  embers  of  the  fire  still 
glowed  red,  and  she  was  raising  herself  pain- 
fully to  throw  on  more  wood  when  a  sudden 
roaring  blackness  enveloped  her,  and  she 
seemed  to  be  sinking,  whirling  through  a 
vast  abyss,  dizzy  and  powerless.  Then,  at  the 
extreme  moment  things  cleared  again,  and 

L.  — 

she  found  herself  prone,  panting  fast,  one 
hand  against  her  breast.  What  this  was  she 
did  not  know,  but  it  brought  fresh  terror. 

Then,  as  she  lay  there,  the  night  seemed  to 
become  strangely  alive.  Intermittent  gusts 


328  Star  of  the  North 

of  wind  roaring  through  the  trees  seemed  the 
hoarse  respiration  of  the  forest.  There  were 
strange  snappings  and  scuttlings  as  of  creatures 
running  across  fallen  leaves.  The  oppressive 
terror  of  great  spaces,  alien  and  predatory, 
weighed  down  upon  her  with  that  mystery 
which,  from  time  immemorial,  has  evoked, 
in  primitive  minds,  legends  and  gods  and 
demons. 

She  lay  stark  awake,  cold  with  the  sentience 
of  her  awful  aloneness.  And  out  of  her  terror 
she  created  anew  that  refuge  which  her  pri- 
mordial ancestors  created  in  their  first  terror- 
haunted  isolation — God.  But  so  afraid  was 
she  for  Self,  that  God  brought  little  comfort 
now,  though  she  clamoured  wildly. 

Then,  upon  her  straining  ears  struck  a 
sound,  a  long-drawn,  bell-like  sound,  that  cleft 
the  darkness  like  a  blade  and  died  away  in 
the  distance.  It  rose  again,  longer  and  more 
sustained,  and  louder;  and  the  woman  lay 
frozen,  her  heart  scarcely  beating.  She  had 
heard  that  voice  of  the  travelling  pack  at 
Stellar  Camp,  and  had  cherished  the  memory 


Trails  Cross  329 

of  it  as  a  colourful  bit  of  her  adventures.  But 
now  its  altered  significance! 

Was  this  to  be  the  end,  this  inconceivable 
horror?  Had  she  been  chosen,  as  she  knew 
some  were  chosen,  to  experience  the  awful 
fates  of  life, — as  some  men  fell  into  boiling 
vats  and  others  were  dragged  down  in  tropical 
rivers  by  unseen  horrors  below?  "  God!  save 
me  from  this!"  she  panted. 

Then  she  remembered  that  fire  would  keep 
off  wild  beasts,  and  sat  up  again,  groping  for 
the  wood.  But  with  her  hand  upon  a  stick,  she 
hesitated.  If  they  passed  close,  unsuspecting, 
and  should  see  her  fire,  what  then?  Her 
loaded  gun  was  no  comfort  to  her.  She  had 
fired  plenty  of  cartridges  from  a  little  revolver 
before  a  camera,  but  this  would  mean  shooting 
to  kill,  to  save  her  own  life,  and  she  hadn't  the 
courage,  the  skill  for  it. 

The  howling  of  the  pack  grew  nearer  and 
louder,  rose  and  fell  as  the  great  shaggy 
brutes  running  low  and  tirelessly,  coursed  on. 
Then  when  it  seemed  that  the  next  moment 
must  bring  them  to  the  mouth  of  the  cave  it- 


33°  Star  of  the  North 

self,  she  snatched  up  the  rifle  and  held  it 
ready  awkwardly.  But  the  fearful  music 
passed  beyond  her  and  gradually  diminished 
in  the  distance.  She  sank  down  dripping 
with  perspiration,  every  nerve  jangling  like  a 
plucked  wire. 

Then  came  a  convulsive  ague  of  reaction 
and  cold,  and  she  knew  that  she  must  have  fire. 
But  her  palsy  was  such  that  at  first  the  sticks 
flew  out  of  her  hand  as  she  grasped  them.  At 
last  the  embers  blazed  and  she  huddled  grate- 
fully in  the  circle  of  heat.  And  with  comfort 
came  a  false  sense  of  strength  and  a  determina- 
tion never  again  to  go  through  what  she  had 
just  endured.  Her  brain,  seared  with  terror, 
shrank  utterly  from  the  thought  of  another 
night  here. 

Reason  pleaded  with  her  for  a  brief  moment. 
She  remembered  June's  warning  not  to  leave 
the  shelter,  and  her  assurance  that  the  rescue 
party  would  arrive  on  the  third  day  without 
fail.  But  the  very  fact  that  June  had  said  this 
was  reason  enough  to  cause  suspicion.  For 
suffering  had  distorted  truth  until  now  she 


Trails  Cross  331 

believed  that  June  had  lured  her  on  this 
disastrous  journey  only  to  leave  her  to  die. 
And  she  cunningly  determined  to  defeat  that 
plan. 

Acting  as  always  on  impulse  and  spurred  by 
terror,  she  justified  her  course  with  sophistry. 
If  the  rescuers  really  were  coming  she  would 
meet  them;  if  not,  she  would  be  moving, 
fighting  to  the  last,  not  dying  like  some  chained 
animal.  With  hands  that  trembled  she  began 
to  gather  things  together,  ready  to  pack  at  the 
first  glimmer  of  dawn.  She  had  a  watch,  a 
dainty  jewelled  thing  suspended  by  a  platinum 
chain  about  her  neck,  but  it  had  stopped  three 
days  ago  and  she  had  never  wound  it.  She 
sat  and  gazed  towards  what  she  supposed  to 
be  the  east. 

The  grey  light  came  at  last  from  the  oppo- 
site direction  and,  when  she  caught  the  re- 
flection of  it,  she  immediately  completed  her 
preparations.  "I  must  save  the  food,"  she 
told  herself,  and  ate  only  a  mouthful  or  two. 
The  remainder  she  put  into  the  bag  with  some 
of  the  utensils.  The  others,  no  longer  of  use, 


332  Star  of  the  North 

she  discarded.  Then  she  strapped  on  her 
snow-shoes,  and  with  the  loaded  rifle  in  one 
hand  and  the  pack  over  her  shoulder,  started. 

She  was  possessed  by  the  satisfaction  that 
comes  of  acting  on  one's  own  decisions  for  one's 
own  good.  She  found  the  noon  camp  of  two 
days  before,  and  the  plainly  discernible  trail 
the  Magregors  had  taken  south.  This  she 
followed,  surprised  at  the  ease  with  which  she 
walked,  for  her  long  period  of  inaction  had 
rested  her  greatly.  Her  only  annoyance  was 
that  limbs  and  will  sometimes  failed  to  co- 
ordinate; she  had  a  constant  tendency  to 
continue  along  straight  lines  rather  than  follow 
the  curves  of  the  trail. 

She  had  maintained  her  dogged,  regular 
progress  about  two  hours  when  it  commenced 
to  snow.  There  was  no  wind  now  and  the  big 
flakes  descended  gently,  kindly.  Gertrude 
did  not  mind  the  snow.  It  made  things 
warmer  and  cosier.  Then  she  commenced  to 
realize  that  the  trail  was  growing  dimmer 
before  her;  presently  it  became  entirely 
invisible. 


Trails  Cross  333 

The  full  import  of  this  fact  suddenly  flashed 
upon  her,  and  she  halted,  transfixed  by  a  new 
panic.  Instinctively  she  faced  back.  Per- 
haps she  could  regain  the  cave.  It  seemed  the 
warmest,  safest  place  in  the  world  now.  Oh, 
why  had  she  ever  left  it !  But  the  back  trail 
was  gone  even  as  she  debated.  She  stood  still, 
fighting  that  breaking  down  of  all  barriers  that 
would  mean  madness.  Then  she  faced  for- 
ward again.  She  could  follow  the  direction  of 
the  trail.  Hope  lay  that  way  and,  clinging 
to  hope,  she  went  on. 

Now  she  walked  bent  forward,  her  bloodshot 
eyes  straining  to  follow  the  least  mark,  her 
rifle  barrel  tracing  a  wavering  line  behind 
her  in  the  new  snow-fluff.  Sometimes  she 
stumbled  as  her  snow-shoes  clogged.  There 
came  moments  when  she  could  find  no  sign  of 
the  hidden  trail.  Ahead  she  saw  a  long  crack 
where  a  mass  of  snow  falling  from  some  tree 
had  split  the  crust.  Again  hope  surged  up 
in  her  warm  and  new,  and  with  a  little  gasp 
of  relief  she  turned  aside  and  went  off  among 
the  trees  into  the  unknown. 


334  Star  of  the  North 

It  was  the  last  flicker  before  the  end.  She 
wandered  aimlessly.  Even  twigs,  frozen  in 
the  crust,  were  buried  now.  The  earth  was  a 
new  white  page  upon  which  the  furred  wild  folk 
would  presently  inscribe  the  chronicle  of  their 
doings. 

With  all  other  bearings  lost,  Gertrude 
thought  of  the  sun  and  scanned  the  heavens. 
So  thick  was  the  falling  snow  and  so  heavy  the 
grey  clouds  above,  that  the  cold  light  offered 
no  point  of  intensity.  She  could  not  find 
the  sun.  Bewildered  but  resolute,  afraid 
now  to  stop  and  think,  she  fought  on,  strangely 
comforted  by  the  mere  fact  of  motion. 

How  long  she  walked  she  did  not  know. 
But  at  last  the  old  horrible  weakness  assailed 
her,  and  she  stopped  beneath  a  great  spruce 
whose  feathered  arms  offered  shelter. 

"I  guess  I'd  better  eat,"  she  said,  numbly. 

She  laid  the  rifle  on  the  snow  and  com- 
menced to  unpack  the  things.  A  dead  tree- 
limb,  rusty  red  in  colour,  protruding  from 
the  snow  nearby,  furnished  kindling,  and 
after  constructing  a  little  heap  she  felt  for  her 


Trails  Cross  335 

match  box  in  the  coat  pocket  where  she 
always  carried  it.  Instead  she  found  a  little 
jewel  case  which  she  had  brought  all  the  way 
from  Stellar  Camp,  and  then  remembered  that 
she  had  put  the  matches  in  the  nest  of  tin 
stewing  utensils. 

With  a  sudden  sensation  of  physical  illness 
she  dumped  the  contents  of  the  pack  on  the 
snow.  The  stewing  things  were  not  there. 
She  had  discarded  them  that  morning  in  the 
cave. 

A  dull  certainty  of  defeat  crept  over  her. 
She  was  beyond  panic  now.  But  the  uncon- 
querable will  to  live  urged  her  to  go  on  and  on 
to  the  bitter  end.  She  had  no  chance,  she 
knew,  but  she  could  not  sit  down  and  wait. 
The  Stranger,  who,  she  felt,  was  approaching 
must  at  least  overtake  her  as  she  walked. 

She  tried  to  eat  the  remnants  of  the  food 
she  had  cooked,  but  they  were  frozen  as  hard  as 
bits  of  iron.  Nevertheless  she  put  them  in  the 
bag  and  stood  up.  She  looked  for  her  rifle  but 
could  not  find  it.  The  snow  had  covered  it 
during  the  hour  of  her  stay.  "What  does  it 


336  Star  of  the  North 

matter ? ' '  she  thought .  ' '  That  wouldn't  save 
me, "  and  stumbled  off  among  the  trees. 

She  was  past  sensation  now  in  body  and 
mind.  She  scarcely  knew  that  she  moved ;  her 
limbs  obeyed  some  behest  of  her  dying  will, 
but  treacherously.  Sometimes  she  ran  into 
trees  before  she  could  turn  aside,  and  twice  she 
stumbled  and  fell  prone  over  stumps. 

Slowly  and  more  slowly  she  walked  under 
the  pressure  of  her  growing  weakness,  swaying, 
with  eyes  half -closed.  Then  her  snow-shoes 
crossed  and  she  fell  and  did  not  get  up. 

She  returned  to  consciousness  with  a  bliss- 
ful sensation  of  hearing  exquisite  music. 
Then,  as  her  brain  cleared,  she  identified  it  as 
the  tinkle  of  little  bells,  and  its  true  signi- 
ficance gradually  dawned  upon  her.  Dogs 
and  a  sledge!  June's  rescue  party  from  Fort 
McLeod  at  last ! 

She  tried  to  raise  herself,  but  could  only  roll 
over.  She  summoned  her  strength  to  shriek, 
but  only  gave  a  little  feeble  cry  like  that  of  a 
new-born  infant.  And  all  the  time  the  bells 


Trails  Cross  337 

were  coming  nearer,  the  steady  tinkle-tinkle- 
tinkle  of  dogs  at  the  trot.  On  they  came,  very 
loud  now.  They  would  run  over  her  if 

"Good  God,  what's  this!     Whoa,  boys!" 

The  tinkling  stopped,  and  there  was  a 
scuffing  sound  of  snow-shoes.  Then  a  drawling 
voice: 

"Hold  on!  Get  out  of  line  there  a  minute, 
will  you,  and  give  me  a  shot?" 

In  answer  came  the  first  voice,  high-pitched, 
tense: 

"If  you  touch  that  camera,  Perkins,  by 
God  I'll  break  you  in  two!" 

Then  came  a  little  sound  of  concern  and 
pity,  and  Gertrude  knew  that  the  speaker  had 
bent  over  her.  The  next  instant  she  looked  up 
into  the  face  of  her  husband. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

SEVERED  BONDS 

'"THEN,  as  she  lay  there  staring  blankly  at 
him,  the  astounding  fact  of  his  identity 
shocked  her  into  feeble  but  complete  con- 
sciousness. 

"Paul!"  she  gasped,  weakly.  "Paul!" 
He  did  not  hear  her.  After  a  quick  glance 
at  her,  which  had  told  him  that  this  was  not 
June,  he  had  sunk  back  into  the  desperate 
anxiety  which  his  fruitless  search  for  her  had 
aroused.  No  suspicion  of  who  lay  before  him 
crossed  his  mind.  It  was  years  since  he  had 
seen  Gertrude,  and  the  fur  parka,  fitting 
closely  about  her  face,  covering  chin  and  brow, 
effectually  concealed  contours  that  he  might 
have  recognized  despite  the  pinched  and 
blackened  features.  Besides,  he  was  not  even 

338 


Severed  Bonds  339 

aware  that  Gertrude  or  the  Stellar  Company 
were  in  the  North. 

Steps  sounded  beside  them  as  Perkins,  the 
camera  man,  foiled  of  his  picture,  lounged  up 
curiously. 

"Who  is  it?"  he  asked,  bending  over  the 
prostrate  form,  "any  of  the  party?  Miss 
Magregor  ? ' ' 

The  words  brought  Temple  back  to  the  vital 
needs  of  the  moment. 

"No,"  he  said,  rousing.  "None  of  them. 
I  don't  know  who  it  is.  Some  woman, — white, 
I  think,  but  in  pretty  bad  shape.  We'll 
have  to  hurry  if  we're  going  to  help  her.  Call 
in  Welch  and  Peter  with  the  gun,  and  then 
start  a  fire.  Ill  unpack  the  sledge.  If  you 
never  hurried  in  your  life  before,  Perk,  do  it 
now!" 

When  the  other,  aroused  to  the  urgency  of 
the  need,  had  gone,  Paul  turned  back  to  the 
woman.  Drawing  a  flask  from  his  hip  pocket, 
he  slipped  one  arm  beneath  her  shoulders  to 
raise  her,  and  held  the  flask  to  her  lips.  She 
drank  feebly  and  then  choked  as  the  fiery 


34°  Star  of  the  North 

stuff  contracted  her  throat.  But  she  rallied 
to  the  stimulant  and  made  another  effort. 

"Paul!"  she  said  again,  this  time  hoarsely 
but  plainly.  The  thing  was  uncanny.  While 
he  stared,  the  three  rifle-shots  rang  out  that 
would  call  in  Welch  and  Peter  who  were 
ranging  the  forest  one  on  either  side  of  the 
sledge  in  the  hope  of  crossing  the  Magregors' 
trail.  Then,  vaguely,  through  the  grime  and 
altered  looks  of  the  woman,  Paul  saw  the  out- 
lines of  a  long  unfamiliar  face,  and  caught  the 
first  glimmer  of  the  truth.  And,  as  if  to  aid 
his  reeling  memory,  he  heard  her  whisper: 

"Gertrude." 

"Gertrude/" 

It  was  almost  a  shout.  He  bent  closer, 
searching  her  face  with  eyes  that  seemed  to 
sear.  Then  after  a  moment  he  breathed, 
"My  God!" 

"You! — you! — here!"  he  said  after  a  dazed 
moment.  "I  don't  understand — I — "  he 
stopped,  distraught,  his  brain  whirling. 

Then  the  first  crackle  of  the  fire  that  Perkins 
had  built  came  to  him,  and  reminded  him  once 


Severed  Bonds  341 

more  of  immediate  needs.  He  sprang  up  and 
ran  to  the  sledge  where  he  rummaged  in  one  of 
the  packs. 

"Here! "  he  said  to  Perkins  a  moment  later, 
handing  him  the  things.  "Make  tea  first, 
and  then  some  of  this  gruel. " 

Then  he  ran  back  to  Gertrude  and,  kneeling 
down,  commenced  to  loosen  her  torn  and 
almost  useless  snow-shoes.  He  felt  a  need 
for  activity,  for  things  to  do  while  he  absorbed 
the  shock  of  this  strange  encounter.  He  could 
not,  dared  not,  think  for  a  little  while  of  all 
it  meant. 

Throwing  the  snow-shoes  aside,  he  picked 
her  up  and  carried  her  the  few  yards  to  the 
fire  where  Perkins  had  already  spread  a  pile  of 
blankets.  He  wrapped  her  closely  in  these 
and  then  turned  to  other  details.  Presently 
he  brought  the  tea  and,  cooling  the  cup  in 
the  snow,  held  it,  and  supported  her  while 
she  drank.  Then  he  moved  her  back  from 
the  roaring  fire  that  threatened  to  scorch 
the  blankets,  and  made  her  drink  a  second 
cup. 


342  Star  of  the  North 

The  hot,  potent  liquid  revived  her,  and 
gradually  her  face  lost  its  livid  hue,  though 
her  nerves  and  limbs  lay  under  a  soporific 
stupor  of  exhaustion.  At  last  she  spoke,  with 
less  effort  now,  for  her  brain  had  the  detached 
clearness  characteristic  of  her  condition. 

"How  dramatic!"  she  said,  feebly  ironic. 
11  Husband  and  wife  meet — in  the  wilderness — 
after  long  separation. " 

If  any  proof  had  been  needed  to  establish 
her  identity,  her  words  furnished  it.  But  he 
could  still  scarcely  credit  his  senses. 

1 '  You — here ! "  he  repeated,  stupidly.  ' '  How 
on  earth —  What  are  you  doing  in  the  North, 
Gertrude?" 

"Leading  lady  with  the  Stellars.  Doing 
a  big  feature  at  Loon  Lake.  Had  my  own 
company,  too." 

He  missed  the  pitiful  boast. 

" Stellar!    They  in  the  North? " 

"Yes,  and  Bergman  was  along.  You  re- 
member Bergman?" 

"Yes." 

It  was  Bergman  looming  upon  the  horizon 


Severed  Bonds  343 

who  had  divided  them  finally,  but  the  memory 
of  the  fact  aroused  no  resentment  in  him  now. 

"Well,  I  had  an  awful  row  with  him. "  Her 
eyes  darkened,  and  her  voice  became  faintly 
triumphant.  "And  I  left  him — stood  him  up 
in  the  middle  of  his  picture!" 

As  nothing  else  could  have  done,  the  state- 
ment of  this  act  brought  back  to  Paul  the 
remembrance  of  their  impossible  union.  She 
was  unchanged,  then.  Life  had  taught  her 
nothing ! 

She  went  on: 

"When  I  left  him,  I  had  no  one  to  turn  to 
but  you — and  I  started  south  with  the  Magre- 
gors  to " 

"The  Magregors!"  The  words  burst  from 
him.  "You  met  them?  Where  are  they? 
How — "  He  broke  off,  all  his  allayed  fears 
aroused  again.  She  watched  him  with  a  sar- 
donic, bitter  look. 

"Yes,  I  met  'em.  The  old  man  had  broke 
his  leg,  and  they  were  in  a  cabin  only  two 
miles  from  our  camp.  ...  I  found  their  shack 
when  I  got  lost  in  a  blizzard,  and  stayed  with 


344  Star  of  the  North 

them.  ...  I  knew  they  were  going  south, 
and  after  my  row  with  Bergman,  I  made  'em 
take  me.  The  old  man  didn't  want  to,  but  I 
made  him." 

Perkins  came  from  beside  the  fire  with 
another  cup  of  tea. 

"  Gruel  ready  in  a  minute, "  he  said. 

Paul  took  the  cup  and  again  held  it  while 
Gertrude  drank.  When  he  had  lowered  her 
to  the  blankets  again,  she  went  on.  After  her 
long  hours  of  solitude  and  terror,  speech  was 
grateful. 

"Old  Magregor  said  I  couldn't  stand  the 
journey  south,  but  I  didn't  believe  him.  We 
were  awful  short  of  grub,  and  I  played  out. 
I'd  have  died  if  I'd  gone  another  step,  and  I 
made  'em  leave  me  behind, — in  a  cave. " 

"Leave  you!" 

She  misunderstood  the  sharp  exclamation.  " 

"Yes.  I  couldn't  go  on,  I  tell  you!  It 
was  killing  me.  I  didn't  care  what  hap- 
pened  " 

"But  where  are  the  others?" 

She  understood  now.     It  was  they  of  whom 


Severed  Bonds  345 

he  was  thinking,  not  of  her.  Again  bitterness 
and  hatred  showed  in  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  they  went  on,"  she  said,  angrily. 
"They  must  be  at  the  Fort  by  this  time. 
They  were  going  to  send  men  back  for  me." 
There  was  a  pause.  "I  suppose  you  came  up 
here  looking  for  her!"  she  grated. 

He  could  not  be  oblivious  of  the  sneering 
challenge.  It  answered  many  questions  that 
had  been  clamouring  at  his  mind.  Gertrude 
connected  him  with  June.  How  much  did  she 
know? 

"Yes,"  he  said,  simply. 

"And  instead  you  found  me,  your  wife." 
She  gave  a  little  laugh.  "Well,  I  told  'em  I'd 
get  to  you,  and  I  have.  The  devil  looks  after 
his  own!" 

"But  I  don't  understand,"  he  said,  in  an 
effort  to  divert  her  mind.  "You  said  they  left 
you  in  a  cave,  but  I  found  you  here. " 

"They  did,  but  alone  in  that  place — "  she 
shuddered  with  a  recrudescence  of  her  ter- 
ror— "  God !  I  couldn't  stand  it.  The  silence 
.  .  .  the  wolves.  I  swore  I  wouldn't  stay 


346  Star  of  the  North 

there  and  die  that  way,  and  I  started  on 
alone." 

How  utterly,  how  mercilessly,  she  revealed 
herself.  He  saw  it  all  now.  From  the  first 
of  this  tragic  business  (he  could  glimpse  with 
surprising  sureness  all  that  had  happened  at 
Loon  Lake)  she  had  imposed  her  will  and  de- 
sires upon  events — forced  Magregor  to  take 
her,  forced  him  to  leave  her  behind,  started 
out  blindly  alone.  It  seemed  a  strange  whim 
of  fate  that  he  should  have  been  destined 
to  save  her  from  the  certain  death  she  had 
earned. 

Perkins  approached  again,  this  time  with 
the  gruel,  and  taking  it,  Paul  fed  her  slowly. 
It  was  a  lengthy  process,  and  neither  spoke. 
Then  gradually,  under  the  stimulus  of  the  heat 
and  nourishment,  her  tired  brain  faltered,  and 
her  eyes  drooped  drowsily.  He  wrapped  the 
blankets  snugly  about  her.  The  heavy  eyes 
opened  and  looked  at  him  a  moment. 

"Forget  it  all  now,  Gertrude,"  he  said 
gently,  "and  just  rest.  That's  what  you 
need  more  than  anything  now.  You're  per- 


Severed  Bonds  347 

fectly  safe  and  nothing  can  happen  to  you. 
We  know  just  where  we  are,  and  we've  got 
plenty  of  grub,  so  you  needn't  feel  afraid. " 

How  different  this  from  the  meeting  she  had 
imagined  between  them;  he  angry,  violent, 
pleading  for  his  liberty,  and  she  queening  it, 
scornful  and  unyielding.  His  gentle,  almost 
tender  attitude  was  surprising,  a  little  mysti- 
fying. What  it  would  have  meant  to  him  to 
have  her  die!  she  thought.  And  yet,  he  could 
have  accorded  an  utter  stranger  no  more 
scrupulous  concern  and  care  than  he  had 
rendered  her. 

Ah,  that  was  it  after  all.  So  far  as  concerned 
his  life  she  was  just  that — an  utter  stranger! 
She  cringed  inwardly  and  her  lip  trembled  a 
little.  She  said  nothing,  but  closed  her  eyes 
again.  She  would  rest  as  he  had  said.  It 
was  a  strange  sensation  to  obey  him.  He 
would  take  care  of  her.  .  .  .  Suppose  she  had 
let  him  take  care  of  her  all  these  years!  .  .  . 

Certain  that  she  slept,  Paul  rose  softly  from 
her  side  and  went  to  help  Perkins  with  the 
preparations  for  departure.  Five  minutes 


348  Star  of  the  North 

later  Peter,  the  Indian,  and  Welch  arrived,  in 
response  to  the  rifle-shots,  one  from  the  east 
and  the  other  from  the  west.  As  simply 
and  briefly  as  he  could,  Paul  explained  the 
situation,  laying  emphasis  on  the  fact  that 
the  Magregors  were  undoubtedly  safe,  and 
that  the  search  was  over. 

In  the  midst  of  their  low-voiced  talk,  Paul 
heard  his  name  called  so  sharply  that  he  turned 
startled.  Perkins  was  kneeling  beside  Ger- 
trude and  motioning  violently.  Paul  strode 
towards  him,  filled  with  a  vague  sense  of 
foreboding. 

"Something  the  matter  here,"  said  the 
camera  man,  anxiously.  "She  doesn't  seem 
to  be  breathing,  and  her  face " 

Paul  knelt  down  swiftly.  Gertrude's  face 
was  a  leaden,  livid  hue,  and  she  lay  quite 
still.  There  was  no  sign  of  animation.  With 
a  sharp  exclamation,  Paul  drew  out  his  flask 
and  applied  it  to  the  parted  brown  lips.  But 
the  teeth  were  set  and  he  could  not  force  the 
liquor  through. 

"Jim!     Peter!     Here,    quick!"   he   called, 


Severed  Bonds  349 

and  the  others  came  on  the  run.  Without 
speaking  they  sensed  the  crisis  and  joined  the 
desperate  work  with  every  restorative  and 
stimulant  at  their  command.  But  with  no  re- 
sponse. At  last  Paul  thrust  his  hand  through 
the  tattered  furs  and  against  the  heart.  But 
no  flutter  of  life  reached  him.  Still  they 
worked  on,  hopeless  now,  until  even  Welch, 
the  most  resourceful  in  this  crisis,  yielded  with 
a  shake  of  his  head. 

"Them  things  happen  sometimes,"  he  said, 
half  an  hour  later,  as  they  started  on  the 
solemn  journey  home.  "You  see  she  warn't 
used  to  hard  travel  an'  short  rations,  an' 
she  just  nachrally  overstrained  her  heart — or 
maybe  she  had  a  bad  one  anyway.  She  kep' 
up  all  right  till  we  found  her.  Then  she  let 
down  altogether,  and  her  heart  couldn't  pull 
her  through.  That's  all  there  was  to  it. " 

During  that  journey  south  Paul  Temple 
thought  of  many  things,  but  oftenest  of 
Gertrude.  It  seemed  unreal,  impossible,  that 
that  poor,  worn-out  clay  upon  the  sledge  had 


350  Star  of  the  North 

once  been  the  woman  he  had  loved  and 
married.  He  had  for  her  a  strange  feeling  of 
detachment  and  disassociation,  so  completely 
had  he  been  removed  from  all  the  past  she 
symbolized. 

They  had  become  utter  aliens  to  one  an- 
other, he  and  she,  not  only  physically  but  in 
mind  and  spirit.  During  those  years  while 
he  had  been  growing,  she  had  not  advanced 
one  step.  He  looked  back  to  her  now  as  across 
a  vast  distance. 

Grief,  in  the  sense  of  having  experienced  a 
bitter  and  irreparable  loss,  he  could  not  feel. 
Yet  he  was  stirred.  To  have  death  suddenly 
sever  even  those  ties  which  have  become  bonds 
must  bring  recollections  and  regrets,  and 
these  came  to  Paul,  borne  on  a  stream  of  deep 
and  tender  pity. 

The  futility  of  Gertrude's  life  moved  him 
most — that  frantic,  ostentatious  search  for  a 
happiness  that  lay  within  herself,  if  only  she 
could  have  realized  the  fact.  Through  every- 
thing— the  clap-trap  and  tinsel  of  pleasure, 
the  envious  demand  for  a  tawdry  prominence 


Severed  Bonds  351 

— she  had  never  been  happy,  he  knew.  Her 
life  had  been  one  long,  bitter  struggle  of  self- 
seeking. 

Self-seeking!  There  lay  the  root  of  her 
failure,  for  it  is  the  law  that  he  who  gives 
greatly  of  himself  to  life,  in  love  and  kindness 
and  sympathy,  receives  back  tenfold  what  he 
gives ;  while  he  who  demands  all,  as  by  divine 
right,  is  denied  in  exact  proportion  to  his 
demands.  Not  only  had  Gertrude  cheated 
herself  of  happiness,  but  she  had  encompassed 
her  own  death  amid  terrors  and  hardships. 

That  her  nature  had  brought  this  about 
with  fatal  certainty  was  self-evident.  Had 
she  learned  to  deny  herself  he  knew  she  would 
have  been  alive  today.  But  what  might 
that  have  meant  to  him? 

In  these  hours  of  re-auditing  the  muddled 
accounts  of  his  life,  he  could  not  refuse  the 
thought  of  June  admittance  to  his  mind. 
That  fate  had  thrown  her  in  contact  with 
Gertrude,  seemed  deeply  significant.  Frus- 
trated in  his  own  attempt  to  tell  of  his  mar- 
riage, had  she  learned  of  it  through  Gertrude? 


352  Star  of  the  North 

He  believed  that  she  had.  There  was  a 
consciousness  of  his  relationship  with  June 
in  the  very  bitterness  of  her  voice  when 
speaking  of  the  Magregors.  Besides,  with 
what  other  argument  could  she  have  forced 
them  to  bring  her  south  to  Fort  McLeod  ?  And 
this  being  so,  what  effect  would  the  revelation 
have  upon  their  future?  A  heavy  uncer- 
tainty took  possession  of  him.  Were  all  his 
hopes  and  dreams  to  vanish  even  now?  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

REQUIESCAT 

HTEMPLE  and  Fleming  Magregor,  during 
the  little  silence  that  followed  the  form- 
er's words,  regarded  each  other  with  deepened 
mutual  understanding.  The  factor  lay  on  a 
narrow  camp-cot  along  one  wall  of  his  little 
bedroom  at  Fort  McLeod,  with  its  jumble  of 
ledgers,  arms,  and  hunting  trophies, — while 
Paul  stood  before  him,  his  head  gravely  bent. 
Presently  Magregor  spoke: 

"I  was  afraid,  greatly  afraid  to  leave  Mrs. 
Temple  as  we  did,"  he  said  in  a  troubled 
voice,  "for  I  knew  how  our  country  sometimes 
affects  people  left  alone  in  it  for  the  first  time. 
Oh,"  his  fists  clenched,  "if  it  hadn't  been  for 
this  cursed  leg !" 

"Please!"  Paul  begged  him.  "You  must 
know  I  understand.  Mrs.  Temple  made  it 

»3  353 


354  Star  of  the  North 

quite  clear  to  me  before  she  died  that  you  had 
no  choice  in  the  matter,  that  she  made  you 
leave  her. " 

The  other  shook  his  head  slowly  for  a 
moment. 

"  If  she  had  only  stuck  it  out  where  she  was, 
the  men  we  sent  would  have  found  her  by  this 
time!"  he  mourned. 

Paul  walked  to  the  square,  quarter-paned 
window  and  stared  musingly  out.  It  was  noon 
and  he  had  been  at  the  Fort  an  hour.  From 
where  he  stood  he  could  see  his  dogs,  still 
harnessed,  lying  in  the  snow  before  the  door. 
But  his  companions  were  not  in  sight,  and  the 
sledge  was  empty,  facts  which,  coupled  with 
sounds  of  invisible  activity,  told  him  that  the 
factor's  orders  were  being  obeyed;  for  Ma- 
gregor,  when  he  learned  of  Gertrude's  death 
— news  which  Paul  felt  it  his  duty  to  leave  as  he 
passed  the  Fort — had  taken  subsequent  events 
into  his  own  hands  with  gentle  authority. 

"No,  don't  go  on,"  he  had  said.  "Leave 
Mrs.  Temple's  body  here.  We  have  a  little 
cemetery  on  the  hill  back  of  the  Fort  and  she 


Requiescat  355 

shall  be  buried  there  tomorrow.  My  only 
son  lies  there,"  he  added,  simply.  "A  braw 
lad  he  was." 

Paul  was  very  grateful.  The  thought  of 
going  to  the  Graphic  Camp  with  his  burden 
had  filled  him  with  repulsion,  and  yet  there 
had  seemed  no  other  way.  New  what  re- 
mained to  be  done  would  be  done  with 
fitting  dignity  and  taste. 

He  turned  back  from  the  window  and  walked 
again  to  the  foot  of  the  bed.  This  man  had 
done  much  for  him — still  more  for  Gertrude. 
During  this  hour's  difficult  conversation  he 
had  heard  repeated  the  whole  story  of  Ger- 
trude's intercourse  with  the  Magregors,  and, 
though  glossed  in  every  way,  he  had  been 
able  to  visualize  completely  the  extent  of  its 
tax  upon  them.  Their  heroic  endurance  and 
loyalty  had  moved  him  deeply,  and  now  he 
felt  that  something  was  due  this  man. 

"I  don't  quite  know  how  to  say  this,"  he 

began,  haltingly.     Then,  after  a  pause:   "I 

didn't  know  Mrs.  Temple  was  in  the  North 

I  didn't  know  where  she  was.  In 


356  Star  of  the  North 

fact, — for  years — Mrs.  Temple  and  I  have 
seen  nothing  of  each  other " 

The  factor  held  up  his  hand. 

"  I  quite  understand.  I  felt  sure  there  must 
have  been  something  like  that. " 

But  Paul  was  not  yet  satisfied.  Briefly 
and  simply  he  told  what  facts  regarding  his 
past  life  and  marriage  he  thought  Magregor 
had  a  right  to  know — ordinary  facts  which, 
after  today,  would  be  common  property. 

When  he  had  finished  the  factor  nodded 
slowly  once  more,  and,  though  he  said  nothing, 
gave  Paul  a  look  of  complete  understanding. 
A  moment  later  he  remarked  in  a  different 
tone: 

11  It  was  good  of  ye  to  start  north  after  us  as 
ye  did.  We  heard  of  it  the  minute  we  arrived 
night  before  last,  and  I  needn't  tell  ye  we're  a' 
verra  grateful." 

"I  think  you  stood  the  trip  wonderfully!" 
Paul's  admiration  of  the  man's  wiry  endurance 
was  unbounded. 

"Aweel,  we're  bred  to  it.  All  three  of  us 
came  through  in  good  shape,  but  we've  stayed 


Requiescat  357 

abed  and  done  nothing  but  eat  ever  since. 
We'll  be  as  good  as  ever  in  a  day  or  two. " 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  upon 
the  factor's  word  old  Maria  entered  to  inquire 
if  she  might  use  the  big  silver  candlesticks  at 
the  head  and  feet.  Permission  received,  she 
turned  to  Temple. 

"Others  go  now,"  she  said. 

Paul  had  already  heard  the  voices  outside 
the  window,  and  the  jingle  of  sleighbells  as 
the  dogs  got  to  their  feet.  When  Maria  had 
gone  he  fastened  his  furs. 

"The  men  will  come  early  in  the  morning, " 
he  said.  "Briscoe  will  see  to  that." 

"By  eight  o'clock,  or  things  won't  be  ready 
at  two, "  warned  Magregor. 

Paul  nodded  and  held  out  his  hand.  The 
other  took  it  in  a  warm,  friendly  pressure. 
Thereafter  Temple  faced  the  inevitable'  pub- 
licity and  exposure  of  the  next  twenty-four 
hours,  strengthened  and  comparatively  at 
peace. 

It  was  a  solemn  scene  when,  at  the  appointed 


358  Star  of  the  North 

hour  next  day,  the  mourners  gathered  in  a 
semicircle  about  the  yellow  pine  coffin  and 
the  raw  yellow  gash  in  the  snow-clad  earth. 
About  the  little  graveyard  whose  fence 
had  long  since  disappeared,  and  whose  crude 
crosses  and  headstones  were  buried  too,  the 
tall  trees  stood  silent  as  if  wise  in  their  years 
and  aloof  from  all  human  manifestations, 
having  seen  so  many  generations  of  men 
come  and  go.  Above  was  an  inscrutable, 
cold  blue  sky,  and  everywhere  the  domi- 
nant colour  motif  was  the  white  shroud  of 
winter. 

There  had  been  much  to  do.  Briscoe  and 
half  a  score  of  the  Graphics  had  toiled  all 
morning  in  the  Jittle  cemetery,  first  having 
to  thaw  the  iron  earth  with  fire  before  they 
could  dig  the  grave.  With  them  had  come  a 
carpenter,  the  sound  of  whose  hammer  and 
saw  had  echoed  about  the  Fort  clearing  as  he 
laboured  in  the  storehouse. 

The  remaining  Graphics,  after  a  desperate 
sharing  and  piecing  out  of  black — Goldie 
Burke  had  appeared  triumphant  in  a  hereto- 


Requiescat  359 

fore  unsuspected  creation — had  walked  down 
to  the  Fort  after  the  noon  dinner.  Events  for 
them  had  been  too  stunning,  too  bomb-like, 
to  permit  of  a  full  understanding  and  appreci- 
ation; that  would  come  later  with  full  and 
generous  discussion.  But  several  of  the  com- 
pany had  known  Gertrude  Mackay  in  New 
York,  and  all  of  them  had  heard  of  her,  and 
the  ready  tears  of  her  profession  secured  her 
against  an  unwept  grave. 

Paul  stood  beside  Briscoe  in  the  front  rank. 
Facing  them  all,  leaning  heavily  on  crutches 
and  with  a  prayer-book  in  his  hand,  was 
Magregor,  risen  from  his  bed  for  this  event 
even  though  it  killed  him.  Rugged-featured, 
gaunt,  and  grey,  he  seemed  to  typify  the  gran- 
ite cheerlessness  of  his  austere  Scotch  faith. 
June  hovered  anxiously  near  him. 

It  was  the  first  time  since  his  return  that 
Paul  had  seen  her,  and  he  could  note  in  face 
and  figure  the  effects  of  her  protracted  hard- 
ships. They  had  met  for  a  brief  moment 
in  the  house,  and,  searching  her  eyes,  even  as 
he  felt  the  frank  and  friendly  pressure  of  her 


360  Star  of  the  North 

hand,    he    had    found    only    kindliness    and 
welcome.  .  .  . 

Fleming  Magregor  cleared  his  throat  and 
straightened,  and  the  last  murmurous  whisper- 
ings ceased.  Only  a  bright-eyed  squirrel 
chattering  his  impudent  curiosity  from  a  safe 
tree-crotch  broke  the  profound  hush.  Magre- 
gor opened  his  book  and  found  his  place.  The 
solemn  words  broke  upon  the  still,  cold  air. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

FACING    FORWARD 

GRAPHIC  on  this  particular  morn- 
ing  wore  the  general  appearance  usually 
noted  after  the  passage  of  a  Kansas  cyclone. 
Doors  and  windows  stood  open  to  the  falling 
snow,  Broadway  was  lined  with  debris,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  street  lay  a  hodge-podge 
of  merchandise.  Everywhere  people  hurried 
busily  back  and  forth,  voices  were  gay,  and 
there  was  much  laughter.  The  sound  of 
hammering  was  constant.  Camp  Graphic 
was  packing  up. 

"I'm  that  excited, "  confessed  Goldie  Burke 
into  the  nearest  open  window,  "I'm  register- 
ing ev'ry  emotion  in  the  calendar.  If  Briscoe 
wants  some  Ai  close-ups  of  Home  Sweet 
Home,  this  is  his  chance." 

Mr.  Gene  Perkins,  the  melancholy  camera 
361 


362  Star  of  the  North 

man,  who,  in  the  process  of  changing  his  clothes 
added  a  festive  note  to  the  dim  interior  with 
his  red  flannel  underwear,  roared  and  leaped 
for  cover.  He  was  the  first  to  admit  that  the 
prospect  of  departure  made  for  a  certain  free- 
masonry among  all  hands,  but  there  were 
limits. 

"If  you  don't  move  on,  there'll  be  a  close- 
up  of  Good-bye  Broadway,"  he  bawled, 
reaching  for  a  pillow. 

She  laughed  merrily. 

"Discovered!  Eminent  camera  man  as 
September  morn!  Believe  me,  Gene,  you're 
some  rosy  sunrise!" 

She  hurried  away  laughing,  followed  by 
a  grunt  and  the  missile.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
Miss  Burke  was  taking  no  chances  today. 
In  the  course  of  her  long  and  cold  exile,  there 
had  spread  through  the  camp  an  heretical 
doubt  as  to  whether,  after  all,  she  really  was 
or  was  not  a  blond.  This  morning  laid  that 
question  forever.  She  was  a  sunburst. 

"Dearie,"  she  told  Miss  Tanner  as  the 
latter  packed,  "we  go  day  after  tomorra, 


Facing  Forward  363 

and  if  things  don't  move  faster,  I'll  be  eighty 
by  then." 

"Well,  what's  a  couple  of  years,  more  or 
less,  between  friends,  Goldie?  This  is  the 
age  of  tangoing  grandmas,  you  know. " 

Miss  Tanner  accepted  the  fact  of  the  break- 
up serenely  now,  and  was  reacting  somewhat 
to  the  all-pervasive  air  of  gladness  and  holi- 
day. 

"Well,  you  little  tabby!"  gasped  Miss 
Burke.  "I  didn't  know  you  had  it  in  you. 
But  say,  dearie,  do  you  know,  I'm  goin'  back 
to  my  husband!" 

"Your  what?" 

The  other  sat  down  aghast  on  the  edge  of 
her  bed.  With  gossip  still  at  fever  heat 
over  Temple's  wife  this  would  be  too  much. 

"You  heard  me.  I  feel  that  excited  and 
strung  up  and  trembly!  Oh,  he's  the  grandest 
man,  if  he  is  old!" 

"Who  is?" 

"My  husband.  You  know  him — that  old 
guy  with  the  square  specs  and  the  knee  pants. 
Sure,  you  know.  Pa  Knickerbocker.  Blooey- 


364  Star  of  the  North 

blooey,  darling!  Remember,  you  would  have 
it!" 

She  departed,  crowing  over  the  other's 
disgusted  chagrin.  Five  minutes  later  she 
almost  ran  into  Jack  Baillie  on  Broadway, 
who,  bent  beneath  a  load  of  belongings,  was 
headed  for  the  supply  depot  at  the  end  of  the 
street. 

"Hullo,  infant!  Say,  what's  the  scheme  of 
this  riot  anyway?" 

He  scowled  at  her  familiarity,  but  swung 
down  his  heavy  pack.  Then  as  he  wiped  his 
brow  he  explained.  The  hundred  miles  to 
civilization  were  to  be  covered  on  foot  by  the 
entire  Graphic  party,  a  comparatively  simple 
matter  since  they  would  merely  follow  the 
frozen  Onipee  River  south  to  the  point  where 
it  touched  the  railroad.  Briscoe  counted 
on  doing  the  distance  in  less  than  a  week. 
The  question  of  transporting  baggage  had  been 
solved  in  two  ways. 

One  of  the  big  river  scows  had  been  set  on 
runners,  and  in  this  would  be  carried  such 
supplies,  props,  costumes,  and  clothes  as  the 


Facing  Forward  365 

company  could  not  spare.  At  the  same  time 
all  the  trunks  would  be  stacked  in  the  prop 
shanty  until  spring  when  Fleming  Magregor 
would  send  them  up  the  river  to  the  railroad. 
By  this  scheme  Briscoe  was  remedying  as  best 
he  could  his  one  error  of  judgment  in  permit- 
ting his  people  to  bring  such  a  quantity  of 
personal  luggage.  At  the  time  of  coming 
north,  with  open  water  and  down-stream 
navigation,  it  had  been  an  easy  matter  to 
freight  it  all  to  camp.  But  now  there  were 
not  dogs  enough  to  haul  it  back. 

Miss  Burke  listened  respectfully  and  asked 
intelligent  questions.  Baillie  visibly  expanded. 

"By  the  way,"  inquired  the  lady  mildly  as 
he  paused,  ''what  do  you  stick  around  here 
workin'  all  the  time  for?  You're  young.  You 
ought  to  have  some  pleasure  in  life.  Why  don't 
you  go  down  to  the  Fort  and  spark  that  girl?  " 

Baillie,  taken  off  his  guard,  whirled  upon 
her.  Would  they  never  quit  baiting  him 
about  that  business? 

"Her!  "he  sneered.  "I'd  as  soon  think  of 
sparking  you!" 


366  Star  of  the  North 

Miss  Burke  simpered  and  gave  him  a  kitten- 
ish push. 

"Oh,  Jack,  this  is  so  sudden!"  she  said,  and 
ran  laughing  down  the  street. 

Baillie  cursed  after  her  fervently.  Why 
were  they  always  raking  up  that  affair,  when 
he  cared  no  more  than  the  snap  of  his  finger 
for  the  girl?  Why,  he  wouldn't  have  her  as 
a  gift! 

His  affair  had  indeed  reached  a  very  definite 
ending  during  the  three  days  since  Gertrude 
Temple's  funeral.  No  one  had  known  of  it 
but  himself,  for  there  had  been  no  questions 
asked  when,  one  afternoon,  he  opened  the 
door  of  the  bunkhouse  stove  and  tossed  into 
the  flames  a  crumpled  letter  that  events  had 
rendered  useless  even  for  revenge.  His  only 
desire  now  was  to  get  back  to  New  York  and 
be  rid  of  this  rotten  crowd. 

Swinging  his  load  up  again  he  went  on. 
Near  the  sleigh-boat  which  some  of  the  men 
were  packing,  he  sawGoldie  Burke  talking  to 
Paul  Temple  who  was  grinning  broadly.  All 
about  him  through  the  curtain  of  falling  snow 


Facing  Forward  367 

people  were  shouting  or  laughing  with  the 
joy  of  release,  like  children  out  of  school. 

"Damn  it!"  he  growled.  "If  there's  any- 
thing I  hate,  it's  to  hear  people  laughing  for  no 
reason  on  earth!" 

Through  all  this  activity  of  preparation  one 
dominant  figure  was  missing.  Tom  Briscoe, 
having  seen  things  well  under  way,  had  disap- 
peared. Not  one  in  twenty  of  his  people  would 
have  guessed  him  to  be  in  the  living  room  at 
Fort  McLeod,  in  solemn  conclave  with  Flem- 
ing Magregor  and  June.  Yet  there  he  was, 
and  for  an  hour  they  had  been  discussing 
the  renewal  of  his  offer  to  take  June  south 
with  him  and  make  her  a  personage. 

This  offer  was  not  unknown  to  the  factor,  for 
the  girl  had  told  him  of  it  during  one  of  the 
long  talks  they  had  had  since  their  return  to 
Fort  McLeod.  He  was  in  a  way  prepared  to 
meet  the  crisis,  but  now  the  three  had  reached 
a  deadlock  in  the  discussion. 

"Of  course  I  should  like  to  go,  and  it  would 
be  a  wonderful  opportunity, "  June  was  saying 
quietly  to  Briscoe,  "but  just  now  it's  impos- 


368  Star  of  the  North 

sible.  I  will  not  leave  my  father."  She 
glanced  affectionately  at  the  older  man,  who 
sat  fully  dressed  in  a  great  chair  near  the  fire, 
his  leg  pillowed  straight  before  him.  "We 
have  always  lived  together,  and  now  when  he 
is  almost  helpless,  it's  out  of  the  question  to 
ask  me  to  go." 

The  factor  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"Ah,  ye're  a  gude  lass,"  he  said,  tenderly, 
"but  I  can't  agree.  It  would  be  wrong  of  ye 
to  stay,  and  worse  of  me  to  let  ye.  The 
world's  aye  different  with  us  than  it  was  four 
months  ago.  Then  ye  knew  nothin'  but  the 
spring  fishin',  and  the  fall  huntin',  the  brigades, 
and  the  traps.  But  that's  gone  now,  and  ye 
could  never  find  happiness  in  it  again.  The 
world's  called  ye,  and  ye  must  go  to  it. " 

She  made  as  if  to  speak,  but  he  held  up  his 
hand.  Briscoe,  wise  in  silence,  was  studying 
the  girl  with  the  keen  eyes  of  appraisal.  He 
saw  in  her  face  what  Paul  had  already  seen 
there,  the  woman  look,  in  contrast  to  the  un- 
troubled girlishness  of  their  first  meetings. 
"She's  lived,"  thought  the  director. 


Facing  Forward  369 

"What  wad  your  life  be  if  ye  stayed  here, 
my  dear?"  insisted  the  factor.  "Ye'd  be 
verra  lonely.  An'  what  could  ye  luke  for- 
ward to?  Takin'  care  of  me  all  your  life?  I 
wouldna  let  ye.  Ye  might  marry  some 
decent  white  trader" — Briscoe  saw  June's 
hands  tighten  suddenly — "but  wad  ye  be 
content  after  what  Mr.  Briscoe  has  offered? 
Na,  ye  wouldna,  lassie!  Ye're  educated 
and  ye're  a  lady.  Your  opportunity  has 
come  an'  I  want  ye  to  take  it.  We'll  both 
be  happier  so. " 

It  was  a  long  speech  for  Magregor,  a  fact 
which  showed  him  to  be  deeply  moved.  For 
several  minutes  after  he  ceased  speaking  there 
was  silence  in  the  room,  except  for  the  crack- 
ling of  the  birch  logs  and  the  comfortable  tick 
of  the  old  clock  on  the  mantelpiece.  Then 
June  replied. 

"I  can't  do  it,  father,"  she  said,  with  low 
finality.  "I  could  never  forgive  myself  if  I 
left  you  to  spend  the  rest  of  your  days  here 
alone.  And  furthermore,  I  don't  want  to  do 
it.  It  would  spoil  any  happiness  I  might 


370  Star  of  the  North 

find  away  from  you.  That's  my  decision  and 
you  can't  change  me. " 

A  slow  smile  broke  over  the  factor's  face 
as  he  pressed  into  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  the 
tobacco  he  had  been  shaving  from  a  plug. 
Briscoe,  uneasy  now,  squirmed  in  his  chair 
restraining  with  an  effort  an  almost  uncontrol- 
lable impulse  to  leap  to  his  feet  and  ramp  up 
and  down  the  room,  erupting  arguments  that 
would  crush  all  opposition.  But  reason  told 
him  that  such  a  course  here  would  only  insure 
failure.  He  had  made  his  plea  and  painted 
his  allurements  earlier.  Fate  must  take  its 
course. 

Magregor  lit  his  pipe,  a  deliberate  and 
artistic  proceeding  with  him. 

"Since  ye've  said  that,  now  I'll  tell  ye 
something, "  he  smiled,  his  head  surrounded  by 
a  nimbus  of  smoke.  ' '  I've  never  yet  explained 
why  the  Commissioner  sent  for  me  to  come 
to  Moose  Factory,  have  I?" 

"No."  She  shook  her  head.  In  the  con- 
fusion of  events  following  that  trip  she  had 
entirely  forgotten  its  purpose. 


Facing  Forward  371 

"Well,  he  told  me  that  after  this  winter  the 
Company  intended  to  discontinue  Fort  Mc- 
Leod.  Every  winter  the  fur  line  moves  far- 
ther north,  and  we've  been  out  of  it  now  for 
two  years.  I've  seen  this  coming,  and  I  sus- 
pected he  would  tell  me  what  he  did. " 

He  puffed  again  in  silence  for  a  moment. 

"Mr.  Durfree  was  verra  gude  to  me,"  he 
went  on,  "I  might  say  flatterin'.  He  offered 
me  the  post  at  Independence."  He  paused 
to  let  the  honour  sink  in.  "But  I  refused  it. " 

"Refused  it!" 

"Yes.  I'm  gettin'  old,  lassie.  I've  served 
the  Company  thirty-five  years,  and  I'm  tired. 
I've  saved  my  pay,  and  Durfree  has  in  vested 
most  of  it  for  me  every  year,  so  I've  enough 
to  keep  me  the  rest  of  my  life. " 

The  girl  was  silent  a  long  while,  staring  at 
the  floor. 

"And  you,  what  will  you  do — stay  here?" 

"Till  spring,  yes.  The  Indians  will  take 
care  of  me,  and  by  that  time  this  old  leg  will  be 
gude  as  ever.  That  damage  on  the  trip  down 
wasn't  verra  serious  and  will  only  set  me  back 


372  Star  of  the  North 

a  bit.  Once  I've  cleared  up  matters  here  and 
closed  the  post,  I'll  come  south  in  the  barge 
with  Mr.  Briscoe's  baggage  and  join  ye  wher- 
ever ye  are.  Now  lassie,  will  ye  go?  " 

Without  replying  the  girl  rose  to  her  feet 
and  went  to  him,  placing  her  hand  affection- 
ately on  his  shoulder.  His  arm  went  round  her 
and  his  hand  patted  her  gently.  The  next 
minute  she  turned  tear-filled  eyes  upon  the 
director. 

"I'll  go,  "she  said. 

Briscoe  cannoned  out  of  his  chair  and  strode 
to  the  centre-table,  tugging  at  a  long,  folded 
paper  in  his  inside  pocket. 

"Fine!  Great!"  he  shouted,  expressing  thus 
the  immensity  of  his  relief.  "Here's  your 
contract,  Miss  Magregor.  Sign  along  the 
dotted  line,  and  be  ready  to  go  day  after 
tomorrow!" 

When  the  formalities  had  been  concluded 
Briscoe  prepared  to  go.  At  the  door  he  turned 
to  his  prospective  star. 

"Temple  asked  me  to  say  that  he'd  drop 
down  this  afternoon  to  see  you, "  he  admitted, 


Facing  Forward  373 

unwillingly,  and  studied  her  face.  What  he 
saw  there  during  the  fraction  of  an  instant 
sent  him  away  cursing  "this  love  business" 
as  he  had  never  cursed  it  before. 

At  half -past  two  Temple  stopped  packing 
and,  strapping  on  his  snow-shoes,  started  down 
the  well-remembered  river  trail.  It  was 
his  first  visit  to  the  Fort  since  Gertrude's 
funeral.  The  snow  of  the  morning  was  still 
falling,  borne  on  a  gusty,  biting  north  wind 
and  the  pile  of  goods  at  the  end  of  Broadway 
was  well-covered. 

The  landscape  was  dreary;  overhead  a  dull, 
grey  sky,  to  the  left  a  white  expanse  of  river, 
frozen  solid  now;  snowy  bluffs  opposite, 
surmounted  by  the  endless  black  and  white 
forest,  and  closer  about  him  the  dark  greens 
and  browns  of  the  trees.  It  had  looked  so,  he 
remembered,  on  another  day  when  he  had 
taken  this  walk — the  day  they  had  learned  of 
Fleming  Magregor's  injury. 

Now  too,  as  then,  his  happiness  hung  upon 
this  journey,  but  today  he  went  without  the 


374  Star  of  the  North 

youthful  fears  and  palpitations  of  the  earlier 
occasion.  Life  since  then  had  cost  him  so 
much  in  feeling  that  he  held  himself  under 
strong  leash. 

In  response  to  his  knock  at  the  Fort,  June 
herself  opened  the  door  and,  seeing  him,  held 
out  both  hands  in  genuine  glad  welcome. 
Her  soft,  dark  eyes  were  bright  and  a  faint 
colour  glowed  in  her  cheeks.  Paul  noticed 
that  she  wore  a  blue  woollen  dress,  and  that 
her  hair  was  piled  on  top  of  her  head,  leaving 
little  curly  tendrils  in  front  of  her  ears  and  at 
the  back  of  her  neck. 

She  led  the  way  to  the  living  room,  maintain- 
ing as  she  went  a  gay  and  ceaseless  chatter. 
It  reminded  him  of  the  childlike  garrulity  of 
earlier  days,  and  he  smiled  with  swift  tender- 
ness. But  when  she  had  seated  herself  the 
smile  left  him. 

"June,"  he  said,  coming  straight  to  the 
point  as  he  stood  looking  down  at  her,  "the 
time  has  come  for  you  and  me  to  understand 
each  other. "  She  met  his  gaze  fairly.  "  The 
last  time  I  came  to  see  you  here,  I  came  to  tell 


Facing  Forward  375 

you  what  you  know  now — that  I  was  married. 
Before  I  could  do  it,  Jim  Albert  arrived  with 
the  news  of  your  father's  injury,  and  I  never 
got  another  chance." 

"You  came  to  tell  me  that  day!"  she  said, 
thoughtfully.  "I've  often  wondered  if  that 
was  why  you  came. " 

"You  have!"  His  voice  was  grateful. 
"I  might  have  known  it.  It  was  like  you  to 
grant  me  that  trust. " 

"But  why  did  you  wait  until  then  to  tell 
me?" 

She  spoke  quietly,  but  her  eyes  met  his  with 
clear  and  serious  questioning.  He  wondered 
how  often  she  had  asked  herself  that  question 
since  she  had  learned  the  truth. 

"That  is  what  I  have  come  to  tell  you 
today."  He  watched  her  anxiously,  his 
troubled,  sensitive  face  bent.  "When  we 
first  met,"  he  went  on,  "I  didn't  tell  you, 
because  that  was  something  I  told  nobody. 
It  was  purely  a  matter  of  business  with  me, 
and  with  Mrs.  Temple  also — a  common  enough 
thing  in  our  profession.  Then,  when  I  knew 


376  Star  of  the  North 

that  I  loved  you,  there  was  Baillie,  and  I  didn't 
dare  tell  you." 

"Didn't  dare  tell  me!" 

He  sat  down  in  a  nearby  chair  and  leaned 
towards  her  earnestly. 

"  No.  Because  I  was  so  afraid  of  him — for 
you.  June,  at  that  time  when  we  had  first 
come  north,  you  weren't  the  woman  you  are 
now.  You  were  just  a  girl  who  had  dreamed  of 
people  like  us  and  of  the  life  we  represented." 

She  lowered  her  eyes  and  a  slow  flush  cov- 
ered her  face.  She  was  beginning  to  under- 
stand now.  How  plain  her  girlish  infatuation 
for  Baillie  must  have  been! 

"I  kept  silent  then,"  he  went  on,  "because 
I  knew  I  had  to  fight  him  for  you. " 

She  made  no  reply.  A  gust  of  wind  roared 
through  the  forest  and  thuttered  in  the 
chimney. 

"If  I  had  told  you  I  was  married,"  he  said 
presently,  "you  would  have  immediately  put 
me  out  of  your  thoughts.  And  what  opposi- 
tion would  Baillie  have  had  then?  Oh,  don't 
you  see!  I  had  to  fight  him  with  something. 


Facing  Forward  377 

...  I  knew  he  would  defeat  himself  if  he  only 
had  time  enough,  but  I  had  to  do  something  to 
hold  him  off  until  he  did.  That  is  the  reason 
I  told  you  I  loved  you  then,  though  God  knows 
it  was  the  truth!" 

Moment  by  moment  she  saw  more  clearly; 
her  perplexities  unravelled  like  a  knotted 
string  when  the  key  strand  is  pulled. 

"And  everything  happened  just  as  you 
knew  it  would,"  she  said  slowly,  "and  oh, 
when  I  realized  how — small — he  was — !  .  .  . 
For  awhile  I  didn't  want  to  live.  Not  because 
of  him,  but  because  it  seemed  as  if  nothing 
was  good — or  true. " 

"I  know,"  he  replied  gently,  "and  that's 
why  I  stayed  away  so  long  then.  Because 
I  knew  what  you  were  going  through,  and  I 
was  afraid  of  myself — afraid  I  wouldn't  have 
the  strength  to  keep  control  and  say  the  things 
I  must  if  I  came." 

She  saw  it  all  now,  how,  in  every  step  of 
their  relationship  he  had  sought,  despite  the 
cost,  to  do  the  honourable  thing;  not  without 
struggle,  for  he  was  human,  but  with  eventual 


378  Star  of  the  North 

triumph.  And  tears  filled  her  eyes.  She 
rose  suddenly  and  turned  away  from  him  so 
that  he  could  not  see. 

He,  too,  got  to  his  feet. 

"And  that's  all,"  he  said,  wearily.  "Can 
you  forgive  me?  Can  you  have  any  faith 
in  me?" 

She  turned  back  to  him  swiftly,  careless  now 
of  her  wet  eyes. 

"Any  faith!"  she  cried,  her  voice  thrilling 
as  he  had  never  heard  it.  ' '  Oh,  Paul !  Except 
for  one  awful  day — the  day  I  first  learned — 
I've  never  doubted  for  a  moment.  How  could 
I  doubt,  when  through  everything  you  have 
been  the  one  person  that  stood  to  me  for  hon- 
our, and  the  goodness  and  truth  of  life.  I 
felt,  I  knew  that  in  this  you  couldn't  have 
done  wrong,  that  behind  it  all  was  some  good 
reason.  And  now  you've  proved  it  true,  just 
as  I  knew  you  would!" 

She  stood  transfigured,  and  he  looking  deep 
into  her  eyes,  down  to  her  very  soul — knew 
then  that  all  he  had  hoped  and  dreamed  of 
love  had  come  to  pass.  A  little  sound  broke 


Facing  Forward  379 

from  him,  a  sound  of  awed  wonder,  and  he 
caught  his  breath.  Then  he  stepped  towards 
her  with  outstretched  arms. 

"June!  Oh,  my  beloved!"  he  called,  and 
she  with  eyes  like  stars,  came  to  him  gladly, 
radiant  in  the  proud  humility  of  surrender. 

Their  lips  met,  and,  in  that  exquisite 
moment,  were  swept  aside  all  the  doubts  and 
fears  of  their  long  desire.  The  futile  past 
became  only  as  an  evil  dream,  and  they  faced 
forward  together,  eager  for  the  new  life  that 
opened  to  them,  so  glorious  and  full  of  promise. 

THE  END 


Children 
of  Banishment 

{By  Francis  William  Sullivan 

V 

12°.    $1.35  net 

A  tale  of  the  northern  woods  that  breathes 
the  true  atmosphere  of  the  lumber  camp, 
draws  a  vivid  picture  of  the  subjugation  of  the 
great  forests  and  the  thrilling  "  drive  "  of  the 
unruly  rivers.  The  story  traces  the  fortunes 
of  one  who  through  a  happy  chance  discovers 
the  treachery  of  the  man  to  whom  he  has  en- 
trusted the  fulfillment  of  his  life's  ambition, 
and  just  in  time  to  avert  disaster.  Yet  redress 
he  must  forego,  for  the  man  who  has  attempted 
to  wrong  him  is  the  husband  of  the  woman 
he  loves.  Out  of  this  antagonism  of  interests 
the  author  has  developed  a  love  story  that  is 
full  of  capital  dramatic  situations,  that  opens 
up  many  unexpected  developments,  and  that 
proceeds  to  an  impressive  and  satisfying 
climax. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


BARS  OF  IRON 

BY  E.  M.  DELL 

AUTHOR  OF 

"THE  WAY  OF  AN  EAGLE,"  "THE  ROCKS  OP  VALPRS," 
"THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  DOOR,"  etc. 

J2°.    COLOR  FRONTISPIECE.    560  PAGES.    $130 

The  story  of  a  man  who,  goaded  into  a 
fight,  yields  to  the  devil  that  masters  him  and 
hurls  his  opponent  to  death.  Years  later, 
unknowing  of  her  identity  and  equally  un- 
known, he  falls  in  love  with  the  widow  of 
the  man  he  has  killed  and  kindles  in  her  a 
friendship  that  has  in  it  the  promise  of  a 
stronger  feeling.  At  that  stage,  he  learns 
by  chance  the  awful  part  that  he  had  played 
in  her  life,  and  the  story  is  the  story  of  his 
conduct  under  the  trying  conditions  of  this 
discovery,  of  the  resolution  he  formed,  the 
promise  he  made,  and  the  way  his  actions, 
dictated  by  fear  and  affection,  influenced  the 
woman  he  loved. 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 


DRIFTING 
/WATERS 

BY  RACHEL  SWETE  MACNAMARA 

Author  of 
"The  Fringe  of  the  Desert,"  "The  Torch  of  Life,"  etc. 

12°.    Illustrated.    $1.35 

The  rebellion  of  a  young  girl,  budding  into 
womanhood,  against  the  jealous  proprietorship 
of  a  mother's  love.  There  has  been  much 
in  the  married  life  of  this  mother  to  account 
for  her  bitterness  of  soul  and  to  explain  her 
tyrannous  affection  that  demands,  from  the 
daughter  whom  she  loves,  a  singleness  of  de- 
votion to  the  exclusion  of  everyone  else.  The 
daughter's  fancy  is  in  time"  caught  in  the 
meshes  of  love,  and  the  clandestine  expression 
of  her  attachment,  which  the  circumstances 
demand,  involves  developments  of  far-reach- 
ing interest  to  the  unfolding  of  the  story.  The 
scene  is  in  part  England,  in  part  Egypt — the 
haunting,  glowing,  throbbing  Egypt  that  the 
author  has  again  made  so  real. 

New  York         G.    P.    Putnam's    Sons         London 


The  Promise 

A  Tale  of  the  Great  Northwest  and  of  a 
Man  Who  Kept  His  Word 

By 
James  B.  Hendryx 

12°.     Picture  Wrapper.     $135  net 

A  tale  of  a  strong  man's  regeneration — of 
the  transformation  of  "  Broadway  Bill " 
Carmody,  millionaire's  son,  rounder,  and 
sport,  whose  drunken  sprees  have  finally 
overtaxed  the  patience  of  his  father  and  the 
girl,  into  a  Man,  clear-eyed  and  clean-lived,  a 
true  descendant  of  the  fighting  McKims. 

After  the  opening  scenes  in  New  York, 
we  have  a  vivid  narrative  of  the  lumber-camps 
of  the  Northwest — of  the  work  of  strong  men 
— of  hardships  undergone  and  of  dangers  met 
bravely  and  passed — of  the  struggle  against 
heavy  odds,  and  of  the  making  good  of  the 
"  Man  Who  Could  Not  Die." 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


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405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

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